


Debtors and Collectors

by mizsphinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Caretaker Hermione, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Life Debt, Opposites Attract, Power Reversal, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 68,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5064796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizsphinx/pseuds/mizsphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lucius is found half-dead, Hermione is tempted to finish the job that Fate intended. Instead, she saves his life thus binding him to a life debt. Now it's up to Hermione to collect her repayment. And collect it she will. Disregards epilogue. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling. 
> 
> This story was written nearly 5 years ago when I had less patience for beta-reading, so please forgive its occasional typos.

Lucius Malfoy wished his legs could go faster. As he ran, he felt every one of his forty-five years in his tired legs and bones. The adrenaline that had fired him from the beginning seemed to ebb as the moments passed. He vaguely wondered if he'd even survive this chase. It seemed fruitless for, not only was he badly wounded, he was wandless and basically unprotected in the eyes of any wizard in a battle.

He knew they were near. There was no need to look back to make sure. Their angry shouts and loud explosions of badly aimed curses were telltale enough. There was a loud and ominous crack and he barely escaped a falling tree. No, this wouldn't do. He would have to surrender eventually or pray to the gods that he was granted refuge.

"You can't escape, Lucius!" cried a voice, and a curse whizzed over his head not too long after.

He was beginning to feel out of breath. His lungs were crying for mercy and his heart felt just about ready to burst. The deep cut in his shoulder hurt beyond anything he'd ever felt, and the blood was running too freely for his liking. He wanted to stop running, he really did but knew that he couldn't. Survival was a necessity at the moment. If he didn't live then neither would Draco. If he succumbed to his body's weaknesses, the Death Eaters, his erstwhile comrades, would pounce upon him and end his life and Draco's as well.

In his musings, he failed to see the upraised root on the earthen floor and his left foot hooked it. His body was flung forwards and the fall winded him, but that wasn't the worst part. It seemed as though his body had turned from the initial path of the forest and downwards into a slope. The loose fall leaves were like wheels beneath his stomach and he was dismayed to find himself slipping—practically free-falling—face forwards down an incline of sorts.

He grappled for an upraised root—much like the one that had caused this dilemma—to stop his decline but found none. His fingers found loose dirt and even looser leaves. The slide became uneven and his body began to flip over and over. His final thought before his consciousness faded away, and his broken body came to a standstill at the foot of the decline was, _I am sorry, Draco…_

* * *

Hermione shivered as the chilly autumn breeze whipped across her face and robbed her of what little warmth she had. She was never a lover of autumn or winter, and the chilliness of the current weather reinforced her belief. Wrapping the cloak around her more securely, she continued to scan the surroundings for more brushwood. The shed would be colder tonight; whatever little brushwood she had at home would not suffice.

She laughed to herself. In her mind, the laugh was maniacal and humourless. Look at what her chief worries had come down to: preservation of body heat. Only a year ago, her priorities had been so simple it was laughable now. All she'd ever had to worry about was her N.E.W.T.s and whether Ron and Harry were getting up to some new mischief that would cause them harm. Life had been good—content even. There had only been some turbulent occasions when things like 'Death Eaters wanting to kill them' got in the way. But still, life had been decent.

Now look, a year later and here she was: lonely, poor and striving for survival in a world that didn't miss her. As a matter of fact, should it be known that the remaining member of the Golden Trio was alive, she'd be hunted down and killed on the spot. Voldemort had won the war, after all. The Light had fought long and hard but had suffered irreparable casualties. Harry had been murdered and so had been Ron, along with Dumbledore, and most of the Order. Whoever had remained after the dust had cleared, and Voldemort had finally assumed reign of the Wizarding world, had been tortured mercilessly before they had succumbed to a slow and painful death.

Hermione, herself, didn't even know how she'd managed to survive. Well, she knew the details and could only calculate the most possible conclusion. However, she only had a foggy memory of what had happened after she'd seen the light of life fly out of Ron's eyes. She remembered, vividly, battling with Ron's killer with raw vengeance, shooting curse after curse and dodging them as well. Then, as she had prepared to send a killing curse, a flash of green light had flown towards her target, killing him instantly. Just as she'd been about to turn around, a spell had hit her from behind and she had fallen to the floor, her consciousness fleeing her.

She'd awoken in the very same forest she presently inhabited. Harry's Invisibility Cloak had been wrapped tight around her. She'd been disoriented and her memory cloudy. When remembrance had returned, she'd vomited violently and had cried for the loss of her dear friends. Immediately, she had known that the forest was not the Forbidden Forest. She'd known that with Harry's death, Voldemort had won. She'd known that the Light had lost and someone had already foreseen the end and had obviously wished for her to live.

At that time, she'd been grateful; melancholy and heartbroken, but grateful nonetheless. But now, she wasn't so sure she was grateful to that person anymore. She wished she'd died just as Harry and Ron did.

Hermione shook herself, mentally slapping her morbid thoughts out of her mind. She was looking for brushwood. When she'd attained a sufficient amount, she'd return home and strike up a fire by hand. There weren't any alternative methods. She had no matches, and she certainly hadn't her—

_What's that black lump over there?_

She was at a distance but the stark grey sky allowed for good vision and she could clearly make out a human shaped lump from where she stood. Her initial thought was to run and hide. For all she was aware of, she was the only one who lived in the forest. The only occasion she had any human contact were glimpses of travelers and sight-seers ambling by while she hid somewhere, terrified they were disguised Death Eaters.

Who was to know if this wasn't such a case?

She looked wildly about, expecting to see cloaked figures lay-waiting her in the trees but she saw no such thing. She glanced at the lump, still unmoving, and curiosity got the better of her. She began to edge forward, her eyes darting everywhere, ready to scamper away at the slightest movement. When she was closer, it was confirmed that the lump was indeed human and, with such a long frame, male.

Trepidation gripped her. What was he doing there? Was he sleeping? Was he awake but pretending to be unconscious for nefarious reasons? Was he _dead_?

And then she saw the trail of disrupted earth that began from where the motionless man lay to all the way up a precipitous hill. Her mind churned, already deducing what had happened. It was more than apparent that the man had fallen off the hill and had tried to stop his fatal decent but had failed. She then concluded that at such a steep drop, the man was definitely dead. Nobody could survive such a fall.

She advanced with much more courage now. By the time she was standing over the presumably dead man, she'd already taken note of his damaged robes and pronounced him a wizard. Apparently, he'd also been attacked; no wonder he'd fallen off the hill. A nasty curse must have pushed him over to his demise. After roving her eyes over his body, she squinted at his head, a sense of familiarity rising within her when she looked at his long, blond hair—

_Long blond hair?_

Her slowly rising courage swiftly abandoned her. She stood paralysed, staring wide-eyed at the man's head. There was only _one_ person she knew who had long, blond hair and who was also a wizard. Only one man who could strike such fear in her heart by just thinking about him. She had to know. She just _had_ to make sure it was him. So she bent down and shoved the prone man unto his back and stared down into the bloody face of one Mr. Lucius Malfoy.


	2. Chapter Two

Hermione stumbled backwards as though an unseen force had shoved her away. Her heels caught the hem of her cloak and she landed unceremoniously on her bottom. Wincing at the sharp pain in her backside, she stood shakily, still surveying the sight before her. She couldn't be blamed for her uncharacteristic clumsiness. She was, after all, face to face with one of her greatest enemies. Well, face to body if one wanted to be particular about such things.

She continued to eye Lucius' still form, wondering whether he was really and truly dead. He _looked_ dead. She warred with herself to check his pulse and wondered what she'd do when she learned his condition. Would she trouble herself with burying him or would she leave him to rot? If he was alive, would she try to save him or would she just finish him off with a nasty kind of satisfaction filling her veins? The latter idea was the most appealing.

Why should she bother saving Lucius Malfoy's life? They hated each other with a passion that couldn't be rivaled even by Voldemort's hate for Harry. If their positions had been reversed she had no doubt as to his next course of action upon finding her helpless. He'd Avada Kedavra her so fast that not even a miracle would be able to stay his hand.

Still, she had to know. Her curiosity was and always would be her Achilles' heel. She always had to _know._ It was no wonder that the tag 'know-it-all' followed her like a plague ever since she'd known herself.

Stooping, she leaned forwards and brushed his hair aside, prodding his neck for the right spot. She placed the pads of her fingers on his neck and waited. Nothing. She felt around again and waited and waited and wa—Wait! She pressed harder, surprised to feel a weak pulse beating against her fingers. So he _was_ alive. Removing her fingers, she glared down at Lucius, vexed with him and herself for she knew what was to follow.

_Leave it to Lucius Malfoy to think himself bigger than even Death Itself!_

One last murderous twinge went through her body before her heart took over. Moments like these made her wish for a heart of steel. Much like the one she was about to save. She despised her altruism and her good-heartedness even more than she usually did. If only she was like Lucius Malfoy. She would have located the nearest stone or log and would have whacked him over the head with murderous glee. However, she was not such a person so she began the arduous task of dragging him to her shed.

After much huffing and puffing, Hermione had successfully dragged Lucius into the small, dilapidated, wooden shed she called home. It wasn't until she'd dumped his body gratefully to the floor (he didn't even stir) that she considered her error. If she did heal Lucius, what then? There would come a time that he'd awaken, and upon finding her to be his caretaker, he'd hex her into oblivion.

She immediately searched his person and was glad to find he had no wand.

Even so, he'd have his strength and Hermione realised, after exerting herself to drag a full grown man's body, that he was, by far, larger than her. With strength and malevolence, he'd wrap his long fingers around her throat and choke her until her spirit left this world. She shuddered at the many ways her mind then conjured at which she'd meet her untimely death at Lucius Malfoy's hands.

"Draco…" came a weak whisper. Hermione jerked at the foreign, raspy sound. It was so long since she had heard another human voice. She searched his face for signs of wakefulness but found none. "Draco…"

"Mr. Malfoy?" she called, shaking him slightly. She couldn't tell last she'd spoken so she wasn't surprised at her voice's scratchy, unfamiliar quality. "Wake up, Mr. Malfoy." But he did not seem to hear her.

* * *

Lucius, in his unconscious state, found himself running once again, but this time he was not in Whinlatter Forest where he'd met his fatal fall. He was also not running away from his former comrades but running towards them for they carried his son. He could see Draco bound in chains, his face ashen and terrified. He was being dragged off by the Death Eaters, and no matter how fast Lucius ran, he seemed not to get any closer. On the contrary, it was as though he was running backwards.

"Draco!" he screamed. Lucius, generally composed and whom not even Voldemort could ruffle, was panicked and frustrated with his present circumstance. He loved his son dearly even though he hardly showed it to the boy. Compounded by the fact that he'd lost his wife already by Voldemort's hands, Lucius was determined to save Draco. He hadn't been able to save Narcissa but he would save his son. "Draco!"

The dream world in which he ran seemed to laugh at him, undermining his efforts. He ran and ran but Draco, grasped tightly by the arms by two cloaked Death Eaters, slowly became a distant vision. He snarled, furious at his feet, furious at this world and even more so at the men that held his son captive.

* * *

Three nights and two days had already passed since Hermione had found Lucius Malfoy barely clinging to life. During this time, he had been mostly unconscious and delirious, screaming out at odd times at some unseen danger. Hermione had tried her best to save his failing health and she'd often times wondered if her efforts wouldn't be for naught. After all, here she was fighting to keep him alive when she'd no doubt, upon his recovery, _if_ he recovered, he'd be most ungrateful.

But still she persisted. Her reasons for doing so not completely altruistic. There was nothing to do besides surviving in the forest. She had an abundance of spare time on her hands, and if she could use it to do good, do good she would. It didn't matter that the good may be wasted on someone so deeply rotten to the core. It just mattered that she relieved her never-ending boredom.

Evening had fallen and, presently, she was returning from the spring after collecting water. She usually went in the afternoons when the lighting was sufficient and where she could see evil before it attacked, but Lucius' health had seemed to plummet during the day. His skin had taken on a sickly bluish colour and his body had been cold to the touch. She was out of brushwood and was unwilling to leave him alone to go look for any. There had been a certainty in her mind that if she'd left, she'd have returned and met him dead. So, without a thought, she had lain on the floor and hugged him to her, sharing her body's warmth.

Hours later, she had awoken to find she'd fallen off to sleep and the evening was slowly giving way for night. She had been leery of going outside at such an hour but the water was needed.

Thankful that she had returned safely, she failed to notice the pair of eyes that glittered at her as she removed her worn shoes. She shrugged off her cloak, folded it neatly and turned to place it near the fire and her heart almost leapt to her throat.

There was Lucius Malfoy laying on his back with his fingers entwined over his stomach, his eyes wide open and following her every move.

"So…you're awake," she croaked out, rooted where she stood.

He remained silent and Hermione wondered whether that was bad or good. Was his silence a harbinger of silent rage? Would she find herself cold, blue and at Death's door, as he had been, before the morrow dawned?

"Are you hungry…thirsty?" she tried again, and if she hadn't been scrutinising his face she wouldn't have seen the slight nod of his head.

_So maybe he isn't angry,_ she thought as she nervously drew water with a wooden bowl from the rusty pails. She'd long foregone disgust at her unhygienic lifestyle. When one wanted to survive, one did anything to accomplish that wish.

"Here," and she held out the bowl but he did not take it. "Don't you want it?"

Silence.

Agitated. "Didn't you say you were thirsty?"

Silence.

Very irritated now. "Fine. If you don't want it, I'll just put it back." But before she could make do on her word, she heard him rasp out:

"I am weak."

She mentally kicked herself as she turned around and went to him. He was staring at her unblinkingly and she found this very unnerving. Having him unconscious and near-death was fine and good. She hadn't had to worry about the consequences of her actions then. Now, he was awake and aware and she didn't doubt that it was only a matter of time before he regained full strength. Strength enough to kill her.

She stood still. Maybe she shouldn't give him the water after all. Maybe she should take this very bowl, smash it and create a deadly jagged weapon to stab him with. Yes, maybe she should…

His eyes trained on her stopped her thoughts. Her womanly heart, weak with compassion could not allow such atrocious behaviour. Her principled spirit prohibited her from hitting a man when he was down.

She placed the bowl on the floor near Lucius' head, then sat there as well. Shoving her hands under his shoulders, she hoisted his body upwards and placed his head in her lap. She then positioned the bowl by his lips and tried not to think how intimate the situation felt.

* * *

When Lucius opened his eyes for the first time after his fall, he was disoriented from pain and his unknown whereabouts. He made to move but was winded by the effort and the pain. So he lay still and opted to examine his surroundings. It was obvious that someone had been nursing him. He still wore his clothing, but he was wrapped in old and moth-eaten bedding. A crackling fire stood just beyond his reach, keeping him warm. Next to the fire were various bowls filled with half-crushed herbs and murky looking liquids. There were also two wooden buckets and some extra bedding that lay neatly folded in the corner.

The house was small and wooden—if even it _was_ a house. Lucius doubted this for there were no doors signifying adjoining rooms. He saw only one door and fully believed that lead to the outside. There were only two windows which were so caked with dust, there was no hope of looking through those. So Lucius concluded it was not a house. Maybe a shed of some sort. And even then, how one survived in such a place was beyond his imagination.

Nevertheless, he was thankful to that person be they Muggle or wizard. They'd had the good heart and the perseverance to make him live, though he wouldn't have bothered with such a tedious task himself, had their roles been reversed. He just hoped that if they were a wizard, they wouldn't be either advantageous for money upon recognising who he was or advantageous for good graces _from the Dark Lord_ upon recognising who he was. In any case, if they were of the former lot, they'd know that he didn't have any money anymore. The Dark Lord had confiscated all of it and more when Narcissa's disobedience had been found out.

The thought of Narcissa pained him and he tried not to think about her. He was aided when he heard footsteps approaching, so he trained his eyes on the door.

A hooded figure stepped through bearing two big pails. The contents of these pails were ascertained when water sloshed up over the sides as the figure thumped them heavily on the floor. Sighing, the figure stood up and removed its hood and Lucius realised it was a woman, and when she turned around and shod her feet, Lucius was dumbstruck to see Hermione Granger's face.

_She's alive!_

It had been rumoured that Hermione Granger was alive, especially when her body had not been found after the War's cleanup. Many Death Eaters had been despatched by Voldemort to find her dead or alive—preferably alive so he could do with her as he pleased. Lucius, himself, had been one of the many to search for the girl, but their efforts had been futile.

Yet, here she was, alive and well and, ironically, his caretaker.

When she turned and found him watching her, her reaction was as though he'd jumped up and slapped her. And Merlin knew he wanted to do just that. Dawning fury was beginning to settle in his bones. He was angry with her for being his life's saviour. Earlier, he hadn't a care if the person had been Muggle, and now he dearly wished it were so. When one saved another's life, a life debt was initiated and the one whose life had been saved was indebted to the saviour. The thought of being owing to Hermione Granger left a very sour taste in his mouth.

If it were a Muggle, they wouldn't have known this, but this was Hermione Granger. Her moniker was 'The Smartest Witch of Her Age'. She'd know it, the bloody know-it-all.

When her shock recovered, she offered him water. He wanted to refuse but he couldn't. She brought the water to him, intending for him to drink it on his own, and he was ashamed and furious to find himself unable to do so, and having to admit it. He was, after all, a prideful man. He'd sustained torturous curses from his Master and had not shed a tear when his wife was killed. Admitting weakness, admitting this to that _Mudblood_ of all persons was a hard blow indeed.

And he would not allow the softness of her hands on his head and the warmness of her legs beneath his neck to soften such a blow.

* * *

Hermione did not sleep that night. She would not be the foolish rabbit who hadn't a care for the eagle circling her, waiting for its move. And Lucius epitomised an eagle even in his weakened state.

Or maybe a hawk. Yes, a hawk was more like it. Hawks were evil creatures, after all.

They did not speak after she had given him his water and his supper. He had silently allowed her to treat his shoulder and broken bones whilst Hermione's hand had shaken with nervousness and distraction. When it was time to bed down, Hermione had purposely left the fire going even though she usually put it out to preserve the wood. Eventually, the fire had died and Hermione was forced to listen to her own breathing and his; her eyes wide open with trepidation.

She had nothing to be frightened of. He was too weak to move let alone hurt her, but she couldn't stop her mind from fantasising different scenarios of her bloody end.

The next morning, she was surly, tired and she felt horrible. She dared a glance at him and found his steel grey eyes following her every move. Silently, she promised herself to only look at him surreptitiously from then on.

It was while she was cleaning his wound, her hands shaking no matter how hard she tried not to, when he spoke,

"You have no wand." It wasn't a question so she didn't bother responding. "You've been here since the War?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she replied with much more venom than she'd intended.

"I'd have not asked had I not wanted to, Miss Granger," he replied coldly.

And that was that. Nothing else was said for a very long time.

* * *

The girl was getting on his nerves. Her cool and standoffish attitude was annoying. Whenever he asked her questions, she gave him curt and obvious answers. She never suffered him a moment's look. Their only interaction was when she fed him from her lap and cleaned his wounds. At first, being fed like that was shameful, fit only for a child, but eventually, he couldn't deny that her soft hands on his head as she nourished him felt enjoyable. Mudblood she may be, she was still a woman, still soft.

He had no desires for her sexually. The thought was ridiculous, impossible and also revolting. He just enjoyed being pampered. He was regaining his strength as well, so there was a win in every direction.

But still, he was curious about her. He wanted to know how she'd managed to escape that fateful night of the War. He remembered her there, battling it out with Rodolphus Lestrange, her face alight with such hatred that surpassed even Voldemort's that he'd paused to watch for a moment before he was nearly killed. When the War was over, they had found Rodolphus' body but not hers.

His interest was piqued. Opportunistic thoughts whirred through his brain. If she'd survived so long going unnoticed then maybe he stood a chance. His ties with the Dark Lord were irreparably cut. He'd been made an enemy just as much as the girl was. If only he could survive long enough to regain his strength to attain Draco. That would be sufficient.

Two days had passed since he was awake, and she had not made mention of their life debt. Maybe she did not know of it. If so, to satisfy his own means, he'd let her be knowledgeable. He wouldn't be foolish enough to let on how powerful a life debt was. He'd give her untruthful clauses and stipulations. He had no doubt that the girl would agree. Who wouldn't find such a situation where one's enemy was indebted to them satisfactory and pleasing?

Even for that goody-two-shoes chit.


	3. Chapter Three

"Miss Granger, I'd like to take a bath."

"So? Go and take one," she replied huffily. "There's a spring just down…"

The words faltered on her tongue at his steady gaze and remembrance slapped her in the face. Of course he couldn't go traipsing down through the woods on his own. He could barely stand much less walk. The enormity of the situation struck her with much horror. She would have to be the one to bathe him.

When he'd been unconscious she hadn't needed to worry about such matters. All she had to take care of were his wounds, which needed daily cleansing. She hadn't foreseen these troubles and trials.

Abandoning her sweeping, she conditioned her mind to the task before her, squared her shoulders, and marched over to where Lucius sat. At his request, she'd managed to prop him alongside the wall. She hadn't enjoyed this one bit. It gave him full vantage point of wherever she stood in the small hut and ever opportunistic, he had made sure to unnerve her the entire day by following her movements silently with his eyes. No wonder she was so grumpy.

She wondered why she even bothered herself. Her part was over. She'd restored him to life. All she had to do was chuck him out and let him fend for himself. This was too much harassment. If it had been a loved one she would've seen to it that their health was restored one hundred percent. But this was Lucius Malfoy, enemy Number Two. He'd stood by, silently enjoying it as his sister-in-law tortured her to within an inch of her life. Hermione was very sure he had even smiled. So why should she? Why the bloody hell should she care if he died or not?

* * *

Some days, Lucius was very sure he'd find his invalid self outside the hut, shivering with neglect. He could see the girl was stretched tight and the simplest misstep would make her snap. The hatred that burned in her eyes as she tended to his wounds and fed him was unmistakable. The girl was awe-inspiring. She detested his very existence, yet she persisted in making him well. What was she thinking? Why did she do it? Did she expect his gratitude in the end? Was she so golden-hearted that despite knowing she'd receive no thanks for her efforts she'd go out of her way to save her enemy's life?

No. He didn't believe in such pure-heartedness. So what were her reasons?

Nevertheless, he would be wise not to pursue that vein of conversation. As a matter of fact, he opted to speak little for selfish reasons. Asking too many questions and being more bothersome than he already was would result in immediate abandonment. He despised the thought but had to admit that right now he needed the girl. His health had inconvenienced him in the worst way.

Even now, he'd been loath to ask assistance in such a simple duty as bathing. He'd already had to endure her touches as she tried to heal his wounds. The thought of her hands all over his body turned his stomach, but it couldn't be helped. He was tired of his unpleasant body odour. After all, he was a man that used to wash at least twice a day.

When she was before him, she stood gazing down at him balefully. There was a long moment of silence as Lucius watched her battling with feelings of hate and compassion. Her lips tightened, and he held his breath, very sure she'd made up her mind to be rid of him. So he decided he'd forestall that decision.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly, "I may not have said this before but it would be remiss of me should I not extend my greatest thanks for saving my life." This admission left a sour taste in his mouth, but he plugged on. "We may not have been…the best of friends…but I hope that from this experience we can progress to amiable acquaintances."

A shocked looked ghosted over her face before a nasty smile settled on her lips. "Not the best of friends? That's probably the nicest way to say 'bitter enemies.'"

"Nevertheless, I no longer consider you as such when recent events have been taken into consideration," he replied.

"I could care less," she said icily. "I still hate you, Mr. Malfoy. I hate you with every single fibre of my being. Don't think that because I saved your undeserving arse that I don't wish you the worst death. Preferably at my hands." And with that vicious statement she grabbed his arms and heaved him to his feet.

He found he had nothing to say in the face of her rebuffing. At least he'd gotten what he wanted. She was struggling beneath his height and weight - which easily outmatched her own - but she persisted. His body ached and pained him as they moved slowly from the hut to the outside. It was bright and breezy, much different than what he'd been experiencing from within.

Instead of carrying him down to the spring, she helped him to a wooden bench behind the small building and told him to wait there. He nearly replied sarcastically 'where can I go?' but resisted. It seemed a long time before she returned, looking harried, with two full pails of water and a ripped piece of cloth.

She seemed unsure (or maybe she was reluctant) as to what to do next. Then she reached forward and slowly began unbuttoning his robes. Finished with that, she began to unbutton his undershirt. Her hands shook but her face was an emotionless mask.

His upper half was bare to the girl and, vain that he was, he thanked the gods for their good graces. Although he was a man of forty-five, saggy old man he was not. He'd long learned the benefits of exercise, and he hadn't neglected good diet either. He was no Playwitch model with their bulging muscles and meaty chests. However, his muscles were firm and defined as well as his chest, and his abdomen was devoid of belly fat.

He noticed her pink cheeks. Yes, he really had to thank the gods, indeed.

She spun away from him, hurriedly dipped the ragged cloth in the first pail of water, and then splashed it wetly on to his chest. He winced at the chilliness of the water, the cool breeze a double attack on his flesh. From there, she applied herself to the task at hand, scrubbing away the grime vigorously as if they offended her. She was not gentle in her ministrations, but he bore the pain silently.

When she'd finished his upper half, things took a very interesting turn. She was eyeing his trousers that were soaked. Her pink cheeks were slowing becoming a deeper shade of red, and Lucius knew what she was thinking. However, instead of being discomforted of her touching him intimately, he was amused at the way her face reddened. He couldn't believe it. Was the little Miss Know-It-All as virginal as she was annoying?

Lucius knew he could attend to himself if he wanted but this was a whole lot more entertaining. He would play with her. There was a certain vindictive enjoyment in the way she delayed the inevitable by rewashing areas on his body that had already been washed. Then determination settled on her face. She squared her shoulders, and began to undo the buttons at his waist.

Her hands were shaking so badly she failed to release the last two buttons from their catch. When she'd gripped the waist, about to pull down, Lucius stayed her hand. That was enough. His amusement could only go so far.

"No need, Miss Granger," he said softly. "I will be able to handle the rest."

Her response was immediate. Her hands were off of him in milliseconds as she shoved the cloth in his hands. With an about-face that was dizzying, she practically ran away.

Lucius couldn't help the smirk that settled on his face.

* * *

Hermione was very sure her face would burn itself away into nothingness. Her entire face was hot with embarrassment as she flung herself breathlessly in a corner of the shed. Images of the harrowing experience flooded her mind and she tried in vain to stop them. She could see Lucius' body, much more defined than Ron's scrawny limbs. She saw her hands smoothing over his arms, his chest, his stomach…lower…

She jumped up, bent on sweeping the house clean as she wanted her thoughts to be. She felt disgusted with herself for inviting thoughts close to a sexual nature of Lucius Malfoy. Yuck! He could be her father! There was also the important fact that they were enemies and that she hated his guts. Conjuring thoughts of Lucius dying in the worst ways, she began to feel better, and she looked at the situation objectively.

He was an attractive man, if she wanted to be truthful. She would die a thousand deaths before she admitted this aloud though. And for a man who was probably what…forty? Fifty? He was still in good shape. She was a healthy, young female, and very inexperienced in the intimacy department. The most she'd had was heated kisses and groping with Ron whenever they had had the chance. She'd been saving herself for his birthday, but that never came to be. The War began and then Ron was dead.

Yes, Ron was dead. So was Harry and probably all of her loved ones, thanks to the man she'd just blushed all over. Disgust returned, and she was vexed with herself. Maybe taking care of Lucius Malfoy was a very bad idea. Would any of the others have done the same? She highly doubted it. They would've done the next best thing; the right thing. They would've finished him off with a nicely placed Avada Kedavra.

Anyway, what was done was done. At least he'd had the good manners to thank her for her efforts. She hadn't expected it, and was very shocked indeed when he'd uttered those words. It must have cost him a fortune in pride to thank her, the hated Mudblood.

When she was sure he'd finished, she took one of the ratty bedding and carried it outside. He was sitting on the bench, naked, his robes draped haphazardly over his lower half for some semblance of decency. She steeled her brain against lewd thoughts as she wrapped him as best as she could in the bedding.

Thankfully, Hermione was spared a repeat of the day before when Lucius opted not to take another bath. It was apparent that it had been as uncomfortable for him as it was for her. What a situation they'd both found themselves in! If someone had told her a year ago that she'd be playing nurse to Lucius Malfoy, she'd have died of laughter.

But there was nothing funny about this. Quite the opposite. It was tiring on the heart as well as the mind. Her emotional and logical side battled frequently whenever she found herself helping him in some way. She felt like the abused rope in a prolonged game of tug-o'-war between her compassion and her hatred.

She was also very distrustful of the man. He was remarkably different from when last she'd seen him. He was quiet, obedient, and even docile. Something was just not right. Lucius Malfoy was the proudest man known to the Wizarding world. He'd been very vocal on his views on Pureblood Supremacy. There was no confusion in his detestation for all things muggle-born.

Yet, here he was, silently allowing her to touch him and feed him and whatever the occasion required of her to do. He could not have swallowed his monumental pride even in the face of death. She was very sure he would have rather died than have her heal him. Yes, it was very suspicious indeed.

At the moment he was outside enjoying the morning breeze and reading the paper. The front door was wide open, allowing him to return inside if he chose to. His health had progressed so that he was able to slowly inch his way about the room, so long as he had support. At his first try, Hermione had found her heart melting at the pitiful sight before she remembered herself and had hardened her traitorous organ.

She would not encourage pity for Lucius Malfoy. None, whatsoever.

* * *

_Has it only been eleven days?_ thought Lucius as he eyed the date on the paper. The girl had managed to locate the thing, how, he did not know. He'd been at the brink of dying of boredom when she'd returned suddenly, breathing hard, the paper clutched tightly in her hands. It was apparent that it had taken much effort to acquire the thing, but he had not asked. He'd watched her scan through it briefly before she flung it at him in disgust.

Now he understood her behaviour as he sat reading in the morning light. Voldemort's face was displayed on every page, obsequious articles following, praising his many accomplishments and good deeds for the Pureblood Wizarding folk. There was not a paragraph that maligned his name. And of course they wouldn't. Not only was he Minister for Magic, he was also the most powerful Dark Wizard that existed. Everybody wanted to be on his good side.

Lucius was reading an article about Voldemort placing a ban on Muggle antiques when his eyes caught his very own name.

Lucius Malfoy, probably one of Lord Voldemort's greatest supporters, is on the run. Sources say that after his fall from grace with Lord Voldemort, due to disobedience and treachery, Lucius escaped his punishment and took flight for the unknown, abandoning his son Draco Malfoy. Lord Voldemort has announced that a reward shall be given to any witch or wizard who can locate his wayward supporter—

"Now I understand," said a cold voice above him. He jerked his head around and found the girl glaring down at him. He closed the papers quickly. "On the run, eh?"

"You understand nothing," he replied coolly.

"I understand that that freak you call Master is after your sorry arse!"

"He is no longer my master," he said, but she laughed derisively.

"I think that Mark on your arm tells a different story."

"I no longer have it. If you'd notice," he paused purposely, "it is gone. The Dark Lord disposed of it the moment he assigned himself Minister of Magic."

She was staring at him balefully, her hair wild around her face. "Nevertheless, you're being hunted and you didn't tell me. What if they find me?"

"Will they, Miss Granger?" he queried, unperturbed. "You seem to have evaded the Dark Lord and his cronies quite successfully."

"So you're using me." It wasn't a question. Her whole body had gone rigid with rage, and Lucius could practically hear the electricity crackling about her. Her eyes, chocolate-brown, he saw, now that the morning provided sufficient light, were shiny with hate. Her fingers clenched and unclenched, and Lucius envisioned himself being strangled to death. He didn't doubt her capability at the moment.

"Miss Granger," he said quickly. "I shall not deny that I am in need of more than your care. Yes, I have found living with you advantageous at the moment but I, alone, shall not benefit. You can too."

"I don't want your money, scum," she snapped.

"I have none to give," he admitted.

"So what is it then?" she stepped closer, threateningly. "How can I benefit from being used?"

"By our life debt," he breathed out. "When you saved my life, a life debt bond was formed between us. I am now indebted to you. In loose terms, I 'owe you one.'"

* * *

Hermione felt her anger ebb. This new piece of information needed to be ingested properly, and anger would only get in the way of rationality. Life debt? The term sounded familiar. Could have been something she'd read in one of her school-books or light reads. However, it sounded fairly self-explanatory. Lucius owed her a debt because she had saved his life. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

She didn't know, but she wasn't about to dismiss it. Lucius being indebted to her could certainly not be wholly unpleasant. Now that she was seriously considering it, it was the best thing to happen to her in months. To be able to blackmail him into doing her bidding was a glorious vision indeed. But the vision dimmed. What could she make him do? He was no longer high and mighty. His former wealth and influence would have done her well. She would've been able to escape her constant poverty.

Had she had this power before, Harry, Ron and the others could've probably still been alive. She could have ordered him to do something, anything that could have preserved her loved ones against the tyrant he used to follow. But it was a little too late now. She had to make do with what she had.

And what did she have? Nothing.

She gazed at him, his face upturned to hers. Even in sickness he still held himself in dignified postures, exuding good bearings. His features were proud and, despite the ripped areas, his clothes made it painfully obvious he did not belong in the hut. Hermione, on the other hand, slumped when she sat, and cared not about her appearance anymore. Her hair had grown into a knotted monstrosity and her clothing was so patched, she believed the needle she'd found had grown dull with overuse.

The comparison irked her. It was the spark that ignited the anger within her again.

Damn right, he owed her! All that hard work slaving over his undeserving self while he used her and her small hut as a refuge without so much as asking! He definitely owed her some sort of recompense!

A vindictive smile settled on her face. "Lucius Malfoy indebted to this nasty little Mudblood. Oh the irony!" she cackled.

"However, Miss Granger, there are certain stipulations—" he began, but Hermione cut him off rudely.

"Were there any stipulations when I saved your life, Mr. Malfoy?"

"No, I suppose not…"

"Good," the smile lingered on. "High time for a payback, don't you think, Mr. Malfoy?"

He said nothing. He continued only to stare at her, his eyes a reflection of the morning sky.

"I'm glad it wasn't a waste of time trying to save your sorry life," she continued. "I think," she knelt, becoming eye to eye with him, "that I," she cupped his face gently, "shall very much enjoy," she gripped his hair tightly, "collecting my recompense." And she grinded her lips hard against his before she stood up and struck him, palm-open, across his face.


	4. Chapter Four

Lucius' pride was still smarting from the slap despite the fact that the pain had long eased from his cheek. Seven days had already gone by since the occurrence, yet he still remembered her striking him as vividly as if she'd only done it moments ago. The immediate and blinding fury he'd felt for the girl days ago had dimmed as the days passed and she continued to care for him as though he were her infant. Even he, cold-hearted and blood made of ice, could not sustain his anger under such gentle ministrations.

Nevertheless, he was suspicious, highly so indeed. She'd gone from being tense and surly to motherly and gentle. She even smiled on occasions. Granted, she wasn't always in the best of moods. There were times when she gave him snappish answers to his questions and her baleful gaze was ever present as the sun. Still, her disposition had become somewhat cheery ever since he had mentioned their life debt bond. What was she thinking? What were her plans?

This, too, bode ill with Lucius. He prided himself on the gift of reading people like an open book. Under his all-seeing and unblinking gaze, their faces were open pages which he thumbed through eagerly and easily, reading their strengths and weaknesses and finding ways to exploit them for his own interests. However, the girl was like a book that was bound with the darkest of age old Dark Magic. Pushing her buttons was easy, yes, but her thoughts were sealed shut in that wild, bushy head of hers.

It had been like that even since she was younger. The two boys she hung around, that infamous Harry Potter and his gangly sidekick from the blood traitor Weasley family, they were easy enough. That's why there were no hardships for the Dark Lord to have ensnared them in his many traps over the course of the years. They were hotheaded and reasoned with their hearts but the girl…that pesky chit…she was ever the voice of reason. She wisely thought with her mind. Her actions ruled by logic. From what Lucius had overheard, if it weren't for her, Potter would've been long dead before he began his third year at Hogwarts. No wonder she survived the War.

Maybe that's why he'd enjoyed when Bellatrix had tormented her. Her torture had ignited a pleasure so deep in his blood, it was a shameful thing to even voice aloud to his comrades. Even though his hatred for all things Mudblood had ebbed over the years, he still could not shake his great dislike for the girl. She simply rubbed him the wrong way, so to speak.

Presently, she was stitching up a rip in one of the old and tatty bedding…and she was humming. It was a foreign song, maybe something from one of those ghastly 'rock bands' that people of her caliber listened to. He prided himself on being a connoisseur of dignified music and as such, he would've recognized a worthwhile tune had she been humming one but he did not. Nevertheless, he wouldn't mind some idle conversation…

"What's that you're humming?" He queried.

Her humming came to an abrupt halt and he was unsurprised by her haughty tones when she answered with, "None of your business."

"I am merely curious," he replied.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Ah, but satisfaction brought it back," He rejoined.

She gave him a surprised look then said, "I'm amazed that the greatest Muggle-hater that ever lived is familiar with their idioms. How ironic."

He nearly rolled his eyes. "Miss Granger, in war one must learn one's enemy before they decide to conquer them." Was his response before he remembered who he was speaking to but it was too late. She was looking at him coldly and her tone of voice wasn't too far off from her gaze.

"I see," she said. "Then it's no wonder that Harry, Ron, Fred, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and most of the Order lost, eh? I bet you bastards made sure you sat and learn well."

Lucius was sorry he'd opened his mouth in the first place. Judging from the way her hands balled into fists, he was very sure she wanted to do more than slap him this time. It never ceased to amaze him that he'd lasted so long under the baleful gaze of Hermione Granger especially when he kept reminding her, albeit unintentionally, that he played a major part in her present destitution and loneliness.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he couldn't help smiling to himself at the thought of what the angry Miss Granger might do to him this time. She'd kissed him before she slapped him so maybe, because of the elevated status of the attack—a punch—she'd fondle him first. The thought of her groping him sexually began to appeal to him before he remembered what she was and it wasn't so appealing anymore.

Even in the face of his blatant apostasy, a crime of which he'd be greatly punished for should the Dark Lord recapture his person, he still held some of his ideologies dear. He was not a supporter of Pureblood and Non-Pureblood unions. He abhorred the way the Wizarding society was slowly degenerating into Muggle customs and using ridiculous phrases such as 'Everybody is equal'. No, everybody was certainly _not_ equal. He would rather tap-dance to the national anthem than proclaim that a house-elf had just as much value as himself. That would not do. Everybody had their station in life and, as far as he was concerned, Pureblood wizards were supposed to hold the highest station of all.

That was why the very thought of engaging in anything more than polite conversation with the Granger girl was an unpleasant thought indeed. After she'd kissed him, he couldn't have wiped his lips hard enough. Her invasion of his personal space had been an affront and her slap had infuriated him into speechlessness. The audacity of the girl! Taking advantage of him because he was weak.

He couldn't wait to get stronger. Then she'd see who she was dealing with…

* * *

Abandoning her sewing, Hermione decided that some strenuous activity would alleviate the irritation that coursed through her blood. Once again, Lucius Malfoy had pushed her buttons and ignited a temper she usually kept in check. Not only that, he'd managed to dredge up images of a time past within her memory. Times where everybody was alive and happy and looking forward to bright futures. His cavalier attitude had angered her beyond reason.

She was fed up of wondering _why_ she was putting herself through this. Did she crave human company so badly that even the worst of the worst would do? She felt like a puppy that chased its tail. Going round and round in indecisiveness. Should she throw him out? Should she keep him? Should she care for him or should she not give a rat's arse? Over and over the same bloody questions!

She even considered the supposed life-debt that bonded them together momentarily. How was she to make good use of that? It was obviously worthless at the moment. Lucius had nothing to offer her. As a matter of fact, _she_ was offering _him_ refuge. They were both running from the same person and the same impending doom. He no longer had bargaining rights amongst his circle of so-called 'friends'. And even if he did, to think of the incredulity on their faces when Lucius Malfoy, the most fanatic about Pureblood Supremacy, wished them not to lay a finger on her, _the_ Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, The Most Hated Mudblood That Ever Lived. It was beyond laughable.

He didn't even have his former wealth…or so he'd said. He could be lying but Hermione knew the ruthlessness of Voldemort firsthand and had to believe Lucius was telling the truth. Especially with the fact that Lucius had abandoned 'The Cause', Voldemort would no doubt find a way to force the goblins to freeze Lucius' funds.

No, she was stuck with Lucius' invalid self without so much as a galleon to appease her reluctant soul.

Then a thought struck her, _He wouldn't be invalid forever. He'll heal soon…_

That's right. There would come a time when she'd no longer have to be his nursemaid. He'd be upright and strong and her assistance would be unnecessary. Come to think of it, maybe _his_ assistance might become a necessity…

The cogs in her brain, slightly rusty from neglect and inopportunity to be used, began turning. Voices in vindictive tones began whispering things as well. A movie theatre suddenly turned itself on in her mind's eye and she was reliving episodes of the past where Lucius Malfoy tainted her life and those of her loved ones. But the viewings that stood out especially were the ones of the look of scorn and repugnance on his features whenever they encountered each other. Even now, she knew her touch scalded his pride and his innate philosophy: Mudbloods were the lowest of the low.

It wasn't hard for her to forget what she'd done less than a week ago. Her boldness had shocked herself more than him. She'd blushed to the roots of her hair when she'd bathed him yet she'd kissed him, her greatest enemy at that, without a moment's hesitation. That slap? Well, she could clearly see herself doing such a thing. It wasn't the first time her palm had itched to inflict pain on him. If she'd slugged him, she could have safely bragged to anyone she was the only one that succeeded in hitting both Malfoy men.

But she was digressing. The reason why it wasn't hard for her to forget was the openly disgusted look on his face after her kiss. God knows, she was disgusted too; even now she still wiped her lips roughly against her clothing. However, she knew where his disgust stemmed from. It was because of his belief that her kind was below him and she despised this outlook. She wanted to show him that this was not true and she knew that in order for Mr. Lucius Malfoy to understand the fundamental fact that all humans were equal, he had to taste a very large and very bitter dose of his own medicine.

* * *

Lucius agreed with himself that he did not like the look on Miss Granger's face. He'd been studying her for the past twenty minutes or so, watching as her features began to bear a nasty resemblance to that of a scheming Voldemort. Scheming never did anybody good and he knew this firsthand. He also knew that whatever plot she was concocting involved him and it wasn't going to be good. Ah, to be at the mercy of one's enemy.

"A penny for your thoughts, Miss Granger?"

"I think my thoughts are worth much more than that," she replied casually, a tone quite different than what he was used to: biting, derisive, brusque…evil.

"I see your mood has been lightened," he commented. "What thought could have done such wonders?"

"Oh, I was just imagining your torturous and gruesome death…by my hands," she responded with a smile.

He chuckled and was slightly surprised that he was genuinely amused, "Come now. It hardly makes sense to care for a person with intentions to murder them upon their recovery."

"Maybe I'm not a sensible person,"

"I find that hard to believe,"

"Why not, Mr. Malfoy?" she queried innocently, "I am a Mudblood and, after all, Mudbloods are the lowest of the low. No Mudblood can be sensible, can they? Can they?"

The slight smile that had lingered on vanished from his mouth. "Miss Granger, it seems that no matter the meandering of our conversations, its final destination is always our former hostility to one another."

"Former you say?" She'd returned to her sewing somewhere along the line and now she paused to give him a scornful look. "I don't remember when I stopped hating you, Mr. Malfoy."

"It's a shame, then, that I cannot say the same," he replied, unperturbed. "I am beginning to find you very…personable."

There was a beat of silence where she gave him a long, long look before she burst out laughing. It wasn't the mocking kind she usually gave him but the real bubble of gaiety when you found something especially hilarious. She laughed until tears were running down her cheeks and her laughter was reduced to little puffs between taking breath.

"He finds me _personable_ ," she was saying, shaking her head and wiping her cheeks. "If only I could've told the boys this." She looked up at him, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling and Lucius nearly clawed his brains (and eyes) out when it told him that Miss Granger was actually beautiful. "I'm not an idiot, Mr. Malfoy, contrary to your beliefs. I know you still despise me as passionately as the day you first met me."

Blocking his previous train of thought, the one that proclaimed the irritating chit (not to mention, Mudblood) was 'beautiful', he cleared his throat and said, "Miss Granger, I find this conversation tiring. We've exhausted the topic of who've hated who the most _ad nauseam._ I'm quite aware of your beliefs and you are woefully misunderstood about mine. Now, how about a change…for a change?"

She opened her mouth, ready to retort when he heard voices. Familiar voices. Apparently she'd heard them too because she snapped her mouth shut, her eyes widened fearfully.

"What's this place?" A voice questioned gruffly, obviously male. "Ever seen here before?"

"Naw, but it looks spooky though," said another and Lucius recognized the second's voice as Goyle's which left no doubt that the other was Crabbe's. "Maybe the traitor's in there?"

"Yeah," Crabbe agreed, sounding enthused, "Let's go have a look."

There was a second in which Lucius felt his heart stop. He began to envision Crabbe and Goyle, the two heavy-set, thickheaded thugs that they were, marching through the front door and spotting himself and Miss Granger immediately. He imagined them whipping out their wands with a quickness that belied their size and stunning them both. He could see the unsuppressed glee in the Dark Lord's face when Crabbe and Goyle presented him with the capture of not only his 'wayward servant' but also of the elusive remainder of the Golden Trio, Mudblood Extraordinaire: Hermione Granger.

Yes, he saw all this in his mind's eye in the split second his heart stopped before something soft muscled him to the corner. His aches and pains protested against this sudden movement but he dismissed that. What was worthy of his attention was Miss Granger currently curled up between his legs as she rearranged a cloak about their bodies. She forced his knees upward to provide more covering, once again much to the protest of his body. He thought to himself that he doubted Crabbe and Goyle would be able to ignore the human shaped lump under a cloak in the corner and was about to say this when she shushed him harshly and the door swung open with a bang, admitting Crabbe and Goyle in its wake.

"See anybody?" Crabbe asked, his beady eyes darting about the small, one-roomed building.

"Naw, you?" Goyle, too, was looking around and Lucius wondered if their sight had gone the way of their intelligence. "But I see a bed." And he made his way over to the bed…and the bed was right next to where himself and Miss Granger sat huddled tightly together under a cloak.

Crabbe followed as well and they both squatted to examine the empty makeshift bed of ratty sheets. Then an insane gleam filled Crabbe's eye before he suddenly started to pound the sheet repeatedly, a nasty grin on his face. Goyle guffawed madly, the insane gleam in his eye too as he joined Crabbe's pounding. When they were satisfied, they grinned at each other then Crabbe said, "Well, looks like no-ones there,"

Goyle nodded, glancing around the room. "Don't think nobody's here anyway,"

"Yeah," Crabbe agreed. "Let's go and tell the others what we found,"

"Yeah," And with that affirmative, they marched out of the hut, slamming the door shut on their way out.

Silence followed in which Lucius felt his heart rate trying its best to resume its normal beat. He was also aware of the way his arms were clenched protectively about the slim shoulders of Miss Granger and the way her breasts were heaving with each inhalation against his chest and her soft, young body imprinting its memory on his body. And, horrified, he began to feel small stirrings of something he would not like to put a name to.

Before he could push her away in disgust, she was out of his arms, dragging the amazing cloak with her and understanding dawned when he witnessed its powers. It was an Invisibility Cloak. How she'd managed to procure such a gift was beyond him. They were expensive and rare. And very useful too, now that he'd seen its abilities.

He was about to make mention of the cloak when he noticed her eyes were closed and she was whispering like mad. Was she praying? He didn't know she was religious. But that thought was obliterated when he felt the magical power wash over him like a ray of sun before it disappeared as swiftly as it had come. Understanding dawned again; she'd just implemented a protective charm over the hut. He had to admit that her ability to perform wandless magic was amazing.

"God, what a scare," she huffed, looking at the distorted sheeting of the makeshift bed. "I swear they'd have found us the moment they used a Revealing Charm."

"I guess you overestimated their intelligence," he replied.

She looked at him, a smile on her lips. "I guess. The idiots…they didn't even burn the place to be safe."

"Would you have like them to?" he asked lightly, "By all means, you can run them down and suggest it. I'm sure they're not too far…"

She shook her head, still smiling, "I guess not…"

Some silence followed before he said, "That's a second time you've saved my life, Miss Granger. If I didn't know any better, I'd believe you don't hate me as much as you purport."

"My intrinsic reaction to help is as instinctive to your need to kill those you hate." She said coolly. "Besides, had I hid myself and left you to your deserved fate, you would have ratted me out in an instant."

"In the end, it was merely self preservation." He said, shaking his head. "So Slytherin of you."

"In any case, we've got to leave," she said as she turned and began assessing the building. "Those goons you call friends are on the way to tattle to your _Master_ and my protective charm is no match for his Dark Arts."

"We?"

"Mr. Malfoy, if you don't want to come then it'll be my pleasure to leave you here. Say hello to Bellatrix for me when you see her as well."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah," she nodded as she began folding up the sheets, "Tell her: Die, bitch. Go to hell."

He couldn't help the smile that followed.


	5. Chapter Five

The next day, Saturday, dawned with an overcast sky and with fat, dark clouds that looked just about ready to burst at the slightest movement. It was the nineteenth day of Lucius Malfoy's stay with Hermione Granger and it was also the day they'd decided to flee their temporary abode. Had Lucius not persuaded Hermione that running away in the night could prove to be unfavorable as well as dangerous, Hermione would've already left the Friday night.

However, judging from the look of the skies, Hermione believed that another kind of disadvantage was in store for them. Possible thunderstorms with their torrential showers, explosive thunders that jarred one's bones and lightning that seemed to split the sky were not to be trifled with and after living in these areas for more than a year, Hermione was no stranger to them. She envisioned their future selves looking like gutter-rats, struggling to walk in frigid rainwater or, worse yet, trying their hardest to avoid being struck by lightning. Not to mention it was so damn cold!

As if to emphasise her point, a gust of sharp chilliness slapped her in the face and knifed at her exposed ankles and calves when it lifted her cloak momentarily. She shuddered then glanced at Lucius to see if he were faring any better. He was not. She didn't know if it was the cold or his injuries but two spots of pink had formed on his cheeks and he was breathing raggedly. Alarmed, Hermione stopped walking, briefly wondering how long they'd been walking for before she gripped his shoulder to get his attention.

"Let's take a quick rest," she said for she knew his pride would not allow him to ask for it. He gave her an assessing look, his eyes, just as steely grey as the present sky resting on her face, probably reading her intentions clearly.

"As you wish," he said quietly then turned and leaned against the trunk of the nearest tree before he sank slowly to the floor.

Hermione glanced briefly at the sky again, silently praying for no rain, before she sat as well. Then, reluctantly, she scooted as close to Lucius as her conscience would allow her and wrapped the Invisibility cloak about their bodies. It served two purposes well: it provided warmth as well as protection and Merlin knew they needed them both.

Lucius was still breathing raggedly. She could feel his irregular inhalations and exhalations against her arm and the nurturing part of her began to worry slightly. She pondered whether this trip had been too quick for his badly injured body. After all, nineteen days wasn't much time to recuperate from a fall like the one he'd had. She'd tried her best to heal him but without a wand to properly diagnose his injuries or even good herbs and potions, his convalescence was slow at best. But she had to admire his strength or maybe his lack of complaint. She imagined if it were Ron (not Harry, though. He'd become almost immune to pain because of the life he led) he'd be bawling about the pain in exaggerated tones of agony…

She smiled sadly. Ron really did like attention didn't he?

Tears threatened but she blinked them back. Ron was gone. Ron was _dead._ Crying certainly wouldn't bring him or anyone of her loved ones back. If it did, she would've cried an _ocean_ even if it meant rubbing garlic vigorously into her eyes. But this was what her life had come to now: playing nursemaid to Lucius Malfoy. Maybe when he got better she'd put her life-debt to use by requesting him to take _her_ life. After all, what was there for her to live for when her job was finished? As a matter of fact, she might not even have to invoke her life-debt. Knowing Lucius Malfoy and his determined hate for her and her _kind,_ he'd follow through on that request without reluctance.

_No. Asking him to kill me is just as bad as committing suicide._ She thought.

She had no imagined views on what the afterlife (if there even _was_ an afterlife) would look like but should it be a place of reuniting with old family and friends, she would be greatly ashamed to admit to Harry, Ron and all the others that she'd begged _Lucius Malfoy_ , of all people, to kill her. Nope. No can do.

She chanced a look at the subject in question and saw that his eyes were closed and that he was breathing regularly through his nostrils. He hadn't bothered to pull his hair back in his usual dignified ponytail and so a few strands of silvery blond lay strewn across one side of his face. She was silently thinking how the perfect symmetry of his face rendered him a very attractive man indeed before he opened his eyes half mast and caught her staring.

She looked away, cheeks colouring slightly, feeling as though she'd been caught doing something wrong, which undoubtedly she had because she _had_ been admiring the man.

"Is something the matter, Miss Granger?" he asked softly and Hermione denied the message her ears were sending to her brain that it sounded more like purring than soft speaking.

"Just wondering whether you were ready," she mumbled.

"Ready for what?" was that a flirtatious tone? She looked at him again but his face was poker straight, grey eyes bored into her own with such intensity she had to look away again.

"Getting a bit senile, Mr. Malfoy?" she replied cattishly, lifting an eyebrow for good measure, "Alzheimer's on the rise?"

"Hardly," he said lightly. "I'm no old man. It'll be many years yet before old age shall addle my sensibility."

She didn't know what made her say what she said next but she snorted and said, "You're old enough to be my father."

"Perhaps," he said, then softer, "but, fortunately, I am not."

"Indeed," she concurred, preferring to avoid deciphering the meaning of his words, "I'd have gone insane if I were Draco."

And she rose to her feet, dusted her bottom then lent her arm to help him to his feet.

He took Hermione's proffered hand with his right hand and used his left one (the one with the injured shoulder) to give himself a bit of leverage by placing it on the floor. Either she'd put too much strength in her pull or hadn't anticipated Lucius to help as much but when she hoisted, he soon found himself toppling forward. She flailed her arms, hoping to grab onto a trunk, perhaps, to stay upright but there was none. Down, the both of them went, Lucius grabbing her waist with his right hand and positioning his body to take the brunt.

They landed slightly on their sides. The fall winded Hermione but practically knocked Lucius speechless with pain. His already bruised and beaten ribs screamed outrageously and he shuddered, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead. He began to take deep, gasping breaths and Hermione had to confess she was more than a little worried now.

Without thinking, she began to wipe away the sweat from his forehead with the sleeves of her cloak then, when that was finished, she smoothed his hair away from his face and her hands over his head; an age old method of comfort. She did this absent-mindedly, conjuring memories of petting Crookshanks just that way after studying until her head pounded. How she'd loved Crookshanks! And how he'd loved to be petted! Especially when she used to rub his fat tummy—

"Miss Granger," a voice broke into her memories, _his_ voice, "it never ceases to amaze me how you can be so harsh with me one moment and yet so gentle the next."

Her hand stilled in his hair, soft and silky as she'd thought, then flopped lifelessly on the floor. She turned her head slightly to the right and found her face uncomfortably close to Lucius'. She then became aware of how more than half of his body lay sprawled over her own. "Get off of me."

"I find myself disinclined to move, Miss Granger," he said nonchalantly. "You're quite comfortable."

Gobsmacked, " _Excuse me?_ " She couldn't believe her ears. "Mr. Malfoy, maybe the fall knocked you senseless temporarily but I'll be happy to bring you up to speed. You are a Pureblood supremacist pig whereas I am the supposed good-for-nothing Mudblood. We do not mix. We do not _enjoy_ spending time with each other, let alone _snuggling_. So if you're feeling better, get your arse up off of me!"

She shoved him away, rattled and infuriated _because_ she was rattled. She did not like this game that Lucius Malfoy had begun to play with her. For a moment she'd been suckered into feeling sorry for him and look what it had got her! Well no more. From now on, she could care less. As a matter of fact, maybe she'll just abandon him right now and leave him to die. It'd serve him right!

* * *

Lucius realised, rather belatedly, that he'd made an error in judgment. Undeniably, teasing Miss Granger was quite amusing. Her reactions were predictable and exaggeratedly passionate most of the time and he couldn't deny that he enjoyed when fury lit ablaze in her eyes and gave them a nice sparkle. However, he'd apparently crossed the line. This could be judged by the murderous look and stony decisiveness that had settled on her face.

Indeed, he'd gone too far on her part as well as his. The days spent in her care had done a funny thing to him. He noticed this when he began to consider the girl (a Mudblood no less!) attractive and witty instead of bushy-haired and caustic. He told himself nineteen days were much too short a time to have such a total about-face on one's opinion of another, especially when that person considered you their enemy and you considered that person beneath you. He'd convinced himself that it was his ill-health that was serving to muddle his mind (ironically, just what the girl had said) and upon recovery, his rose-coloured glasses would fall away and he'd see her for just what she really was once again: an annoying, presumptuous Muggleborn.

But this was day two of his resolution to dispose of those retched, tainted glasses. He hadn't been able to fortify himself before she'd caringly wrapped the cloak around his freezing, hurting body, before she'd gazed at him so admiringly. Merlin knew, he was a vain man and to have this young witch giving him appreciative looks _despite_ his horrid state of dress was more than a boost to the ego.

Rose-coloured indeed, but thank Merlin his sensibility had not completely abandoned him. He was more than certain he hadn't _fallen_ for the girl (he shuddered at the thought) but he was a forty-five year old man alone with a young, nubile woman, who, although outwardly venomous towards him, was soft-hearted to the core. Such a situation could prove very advantageous, no matter that he was unwell—

His inappropriate thoughts were cut short when he realised that the girl had turned her back on him and had squared her shoulders in a way he did not like. She took a few steps forwards before she stopped and threw him a glare.

"Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy," she said coldly. "Extend my greetings to the carrion birds when they come and feast on your worthless body." And with a swish of fabric, she disappeared beneath the Invisibility cloak and walked away.

Dumbstruck, Lucius remained where he sat, on the floor, after he'd been pushed viciously away from Miss Granger's person. It only took a few moments for his surprise to ebb and common sense began to flow. He struggled to his feet, pain resurfacing in waves that brought him to his knees and berated himself for his foolishness. His one and only saving grace had abandoned him due to lack of self-control, a talent he usually prided himself on.

He despised desperation but could not afford otherwise. He needed the girl, loathe as he was to admit it. She took care of his ailments and provided him refuge, his topmost priorities at the moment. There was no doubt that without her assistance, he would perish in these unknown parts whether by his former Lord's cronies' wands or by nature itself. He would die…and so would Draco if he didn't hurry and get better.

He could still hear her footsteps rustling through the fall leaves so he struggled once more to his feet and limped in that direction.

"Miss Granger, I implore you to rethink your decision," he called.

He heard nothing but the rustling of leaves. He ignored his outraged and offended conscience that railed at what he was about to do next.

"My sincerest apologies for my absurd behaviour earlier. I promise you such an occurrence would not repeat itself." Then, " _Please,_ Miss Granger, I need your help."

The rustling stopped and Lucius wondered if his words had reached her or if she'd probably long gone and he'd only been deceived by the wind rustling the leaves. The latter was too unpleasant to consider.

A long silence followed in which Lucius felt dawning unease. "Miss Gra—"

"Why?"

Relieved but disgusted with himself, he answered, "I will not survive in the absence of your care."

She removed the Invisibility cloak and he could see she'd not gone very far so he limped closer. He stopped when he was a hand's length away. Obviously, she was still angry but her Gryffindor spirit denied her walking away when someone cried for her assistance.

"I am aware of that, Mr. Malfoy," she said breezily. "That's why I was more than willing to desert you. But I want to know _why_ you need to survive," she paused, then, "I want to know why you were running away."

He did not want to tell her. He was superstitious about speaking his plans aloud but he had no choice. She was giving him suspicious looks. He couldn't just say 'I'm afraid I can't', she'd just retort icily that she couldn't help him either and walk away without a backwards glance.

He exhaled slowly then said, "The Dark Lord has my son and I wish to retrieve him."

"Didn't you _abandon_ him?"

Annoyed, "No, I most certainly did not. I pretended to do so to ensure his safety."

"How so? How can anyone be _safe_ with those freaks?"

"He is safe. They will use him as bait," he explained, "to trap me. They will not kill him."

"Yet," added she in disbelieving tones but before he could slight his hand by responding with a mean remark, she asked, "So why did you _pretend_ to abandon Draco?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, beginning to find her incessant questioning irritating. So he told her just as much.

She lifted an eyebrow of her own, "Mr. Malfoy, you are the one that begged me to help you. I want to know why. If I don't ask, who is to say that upon your recovery you won't do away with me as you've tried so tirelessly before?"

"Miss Granger, should that be my intention, would I be foolhardy enough to admit it?"

She drew herself up, back straight, chin lifted high, "I'll know if you're lying."

Lucius nearly rolled his eyes but resisted the urge. He dearly wanted to tell the naïve little Mudblood chit that he'd perfected the art of lying and that her meager years on earth to retain wisdom were no match to his but he held his tongue. He was growing restless and bored, wanting to continue their journey onward as soon as possible. The skies had turned an even darker shade of grey and the clouds looked fatter than ever. There was no ambiguity of what nature had in store now.

"Miss Granger, it'd be prudent that we make haste," he motioned to the sky. "And as disbelieving as you may be, I've no wish to harm you. You have twice saved my life and now my debt to you is doubly binding. You need not fear."

Suspicion warred with uncertainty. He could read her thoughts so clearly because of her expressive eyes. She wanted to believe he would not harm her but her distrust and hate prevented her from doing so and he understood. Merlin knew he didn't trust her either. The War had changed many of its survivors and the girl was one of them. He still could not fathom her true reason for laboring to make him well (not that he was ungrateful). What if she'd transformed into a sadistic and mentally unstable person? What if her reasoning to healing him was to kill him at the first sign of good health?

He dismissed those ridiculous ideas immediately. It was foolishness. Nobody would go through such trouble to unravel it all in the end. He had to accept that that was just the way the girl was built. She was kind-hearted and selfless. Maybe it was because such integrity didn't exist anymore why he was so distrustful of her. No, truth be told, it all came down to his old prejudices. She was a Mudblood and Mudbloods couldn't… _shouldn't_ be trusted.

* * *

In the end, common sense won Hermione over and she decided to herself that she'd believe Malfoy. She'd help him until he was better and then he'd be on his way, out of her life, thank you very much. Maybe when she was between a rock and a hard place she'd go looking for him to repay one of the life debts he owed her because apparently the number had risen to two.

She'd been a little confused at first but then she remembered covering him with her Invisibility cloak just before Crabbe and Goyle's rude entrance into her hut. She guessed it could be considered a form of saving his life. After all, she could have covered herself and cared less whether they Avada Kedavra-ed him stiff.

She didn't know why she'd saved his sorry arse anyway. She tried to convince herself that she hadn't wanted to be tattled on but truth be told, that hadn't even crossed her mind when she'd wrapped the cloak about their bodies. Survival mode had kicked in and that was that.

Nevertheless, she was saving him yet again though she doubted this third time constituted a life debt. She didn't know why she kept sticking her neck out for the ungrateful ingrate (repetition at its best; she completely ignored his previous comments of gratitude). He was only using her and she saw it and was allowing it! And to top it all off, he was avoiding her questions (though he answered the majority)!

_Shut up, conscience!_ She thought angrily, disliking the way her subconscious was injecting positive light on his behaviour.

She gave him a cold look then said, "Alright, Mr. Malfoy but I hope you'll be ready when it's payback time."

His eyes traveled slowly from the top of her head to her toes and right back up and she refused to shine light on the shiver that raced up her spine. "Of course, Miss Granger."


	6. Chapter Six

Four days later, fortune smiled on Hermione and Lucius. After hours of walking with little sustenance to carry their weary legs and the terribly cold weather draining them of warmth as well as hope, they felt invigorated by what they saw. Just up ahead was a road. No, not a rugged, undefined dirt track but a road made of solid asphalt. There was no doubt about it in their minds: this road would definitely lead them to some sort of civilization.

Hermione nearly cried tears of joy but fought the urge. It was early days yet to be happy. Walking in such an open area was like dancing naked in front of a crowd. They'll be spotted immediately by any lurking threats and be hauled off to their deaths. She could not abide such a thing. She'd struggled too hard and too long to watch it all disappear so easily. She'd also be furious with Lucius because if it hadn't been for him, she'd have still been alone and _safe_ in her hut.

Yes, because of his sudden and disruptive presence in her life she'd been forced to abandon the only safe place she'd known.

 _What makes you think you'd have been safe forever?_ Her subconscious argued but she ignored it. Blaming Lucius Malfoy for everything that had gone wrong in her life was extraordinarily satisfying and had somewhat of a calming effect when her anger was provoked. No mouthy conscience was going to rob her of that.

They soon arrived near enough to see the yellow parting in the middle of the road and on a sign that was in need of repainting Hermione read: WHINLATTER PASS. Underneath that was: BRAITHWAITE, 15 KM AHEAD. She quickly did the math. At a normal undisturbed pace, it would've taken them two to three hours to get there but they were tired and Lucius was injured; there was no way they'd make it to Braithwaite before collapsing from starvation and fatigue.

She let out a very unladylike grunt of frustration, glaring at Lucius when he dared to looked amused.

"You think this is funny?" She demanded angrily.

"You Gryffindors are easily provoked to grand displays of emotion," he responded.

"It's better than being an emotionless, cold-hearted arse, don't you think?" she retorted immediately.

"Miss Granger, desist from using such a vulgar word. It does not become you."

Immaturity seized her, "Arse. Arse, arse, arse, arse, arse!"

The last she practically screamed and after the final syllable's echo had died away, a long silence followed. Lucius' expression made it clear that she'd not impressed him. As a matter of fact, he gave her a look that said she'd check-marked some prior belief that all Muggleborns were idiotic to the nth degree.

In dry tones he asked, "Are you pleased with yourself, Miss Granger?"

"Quite so, Mr. Malfoy," she replied haughtily then walked off to a nearby tree where she proceeded to sit and rest at its roots.

Eventually, Hermione realized that hunger, an evil thing that had tightened her stomach into painful knots, and thirst would not give her respite. She fidgeted; sleep evading her because of the penetrating brightness of the sky. With another unladylike grunt of frustration, she sat up, glaring at the prone form of Lucius Malfoy as he leant against a tree trunk. She decided to blame him for her hunger and thirst as well.

She suggested that they continue on and he agreed without complaint. So they began their arduous trek to Braithwaite. It was slow going for the both of them. Her feet protested against the abuse and with a glance, she recognized the pained look on his face and the slow but sure way that his breathing was becoming irregular.

They stayed within the forest, walking alongside the road and a bit of luck struck them again. They came across a brook and Hermione rushed to it, gulping down handfuls and silently declaring she'd never tasted anything sweeter. After splashing their faces and drinking their fill, they moved on, feeling slightly better.

Soon, Hermione developed stitches in her side. She'd drunk to almost bursting and was now feeling the repercussions of such a foolish decision. Their slow plodding became a crawl and it wasn't long before Hermione declared yet another rest stop. As usual, Lucius merely nodded his affirmative.

* * *

Lucius was becoming increasingly annoyed with this stop-and-go business. He felt as though time was like the water he'd previously drunk. He had no solid hold; it was trickling away through his fingers. He had to make haste but it was proving to be difficult. His surroundings and his health were at his disadvantage.

He desperately wanted to get to Braithwaite as soon as possible. In Braithwaite there would be wonderful commodities such as a bathroom to use, a bed to sleep in, food to eat…maybe even clean new clothing. There was also a great possibility that a certified Healer of some sort would be in the vicinity. If, perchance, Braithwaite was a Muggle village, he was even willing to submit his body to the curing of a Muggle physician.

No doubt some sort of compensation would be requested but Miss Granger had renewed his faith in humanity. He'd found out that some people just enjoyed doing good for others—a concept he could not and was unwilling to comprehend. He hoped there were others like the girl. If not, he'd find a way. He was Lucius Malfoy, cleverer and craftier than Voldemort himself.

He also could not wait to shirk the girl from his side. Her presence, though enjoyable in some moments, was beginning to become irksome. He did not like the paths his mind had begun to traverse whenever it concerned her. He was quite content with the belief that she was a worthless, ugly, irritating Mudblood who was lower than house-elves and goblins and had no business being alive in the first place. Yet something was determined to upend those dearly held beliefs.

Something insisted that she was a beautiful woman whose companionship he found refreshing and enjoyable. Something _dared_ him to be attracted to her and Merlin knew if he wasn't! He wanted her but simultaneously was sickened at the idea of touching her (or her touching him) intimately. Indeed, he had to rid himself of her and these ridiculous thoughts. Soon, he'd return to thinking with his head and not his libido.

His thoughts were interrupted when the girl in question let out a sudden laugh. He glanced at her and noted the look of sudden inspiration adorning her features.

"I can't believe it!" She exclaimed with glee though Lucius could not ascertain what was gleeful in their present circumstance so he merely lifted an eyebrow questioningly. "I can't believe I forgot such an important lesson!"

"Enlighten me," he said dryly.

"We can Apparate."

* * *

Hermione wanted to step outside of her body, aim well and give herself a hard and well deserved clout behind the head for her absentmindedness. Where had all her brains and perfect common sense flown off to? Why was it that four days later, after suffering from near starvation and constant fear, she'd only come to realise there had been a simple solution to all her troubles? Apparition!

As a matter of fact, why hadn't she done it even before spending an entire, wretched year in this godforsaken place? How could her mind have lapsed like that? Had the grief of losing the war, her family and friends taken her smarts along with it too? She didn't want to clout herself now, she _prayed_ for punishment to strike her down from the heavens.

She could have Apparated. Off to somewhere safe and unknown. Started a new life and forgotten about the old. She would not have encountered a near-dead Lucius Malfoy. She would not have been burdened with his ill-health or even his unpleasant company. Things would've—

"Miss Granger, I'm sorry to say but such an idea would be unwise," he interrupted.

She turned on him, irritated. "What? Why?"

"Did you attain your Apparition license before the war?"

"No," she began slowly, "but I hardly see the need. It's not as if I'm underage anymore—"

"Miss Granger," he interrupted yet again, "the license was not only intended to restrict underage use. It was in place to monitor and police the wizards and witches who used it."

Dawning realisation morphed into horror that quickly turned into growing vexation. "The Ministry _spies_ on people?"

"You would be grossly naïve if you thought otherwise."

She glared at him but said instead, "So considering that vile-thing-that-shan't-be-named is the current Minister of Magic, he'd know immediately where we are if we Apparated."

He nodded, "Indeed."

Desperate, "But what if…what if it was outside of Britain?"

He raised both eyebrows this time, "I know only of one man who can perform such a feat…and he is already dead."

_Dumbledore…_

Of course, it had to be Dumbledore. He'd been labeled the most powerful wizard that not even Voldemort could rival. There were never any doubts in his abilities. He'd be able to perform intercontinental Apparition as easily as local Apparition because of his magical power. She didn't even stand a chance.

Dejected, feeling as though Lucius had taken her heart and stomped on it with vigour, she returned to plodding along. The stitch in her side had disappeared during her moment's pause and she was grateful for that much. At least that little burden had been lifted.

She refused to say another word to Lucius and apparently he was fine with that for he said nothing himself. She decided to blame him yet again. After all, he'd crushed her little hope with great swiftness. Notifying her immediately, with a touch too much of gloat for her liking, that her 'idea was unwise'.

Well, she'll see about that. Maybe Apparition was out of the question today but they would be arriving to this Braithwaite place soon. Upon arriving there, she'd make sure to foist him on some motherly kind who had nothing to do and who didn't know better. Then she'd make haste to flea Britain altogether, unencumbered by one Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

With each deciding to abandon the other, they developed a determination to arrive at Braithwaite as fast as they could. Lucius' ribs had begun a protest of constant pain but when he saw the next sign that read: WHINLATTER PASS. BRAITHWAITE 5KM, he concluded that they were near. Thank Merlin for small mercies but they were near.

An hour and a half later, after being forced onto the open road as the forest had ended in a steep climb to nothingness, Lucius spotted another sign and was taken aback by what he saw, not because of its horrendousness but because he was aware of its significance. For there, on the sign that was supposed to read 'WELCOME TO BRAITHWAITE', was a human hand that was nailed to it. The nail had been embedded in the very center of the palm and a dribble of blood had dried on the palm just below where the nail pricked the flesh.

 _Macnair_ , he thought. It was the Death Eater's creative signature to let others know he'd been in the vicinity. This led Lucius to deduce that if Macnair had been present, the others had been as well. A raid had been performed and upon entering this village, there would be no-one alive to welcome them in.

Beside him, the girl let out a cry of startled fright. Obviously she'd just spotted the sign.

He wondered whether they should continue any further within. There was a likelihood that a few of his former comrades where still enjoying their 'conquests'. They were an uncivilized bunch and despite their strong views on muggles and muggleborns, they had no qualms enjoying them in perverse ways. Granted, he'd be a hypocrite if he didn't admit to engaging in some these activities as well.

Nevertheless, he had no wish to encounter them. Neither he nor the girl had a wand to defend themselves. However, they could not turn back. If his geography was correct, should they turn back, the next identifiable road would be Lorton, which led to the village of Cockermouth. It would be days…weeks even…before they arrived. They'd have surely died by that time, if not by the hands of Death Eaters but by Nature's cruelty.

Decided, he motioned for the girl to follow him. His plans to rid himself of her had to be scrapped. If there had been a physician in Braithwaite, he was definitely dead.

"I'm not going in there," said she in terrified tones.

"There is no other choice," he explained.

"Yes there is!" She hissed. "I'm going back!"

"You foolish girl," he hissed in return, "you'll die within the hour."

"It's your _friends'_ doing isn't it?" She accused. His silence was her answer. "So what if they're still in there? Isn't it safe to say we'll be dead within _minutes_?"

Exasperated, "Miss Granger, the time you've wasted resisting, could have been used for better."

"What is better? Marching in and getting ourselves killed?"

"It is saddening that your intelligence has withered away to nothingness," he said coldly. "Pray tell, your alternative _besides_ your idiotic idea to turn back?"

She kept quiet then, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling dangerously. No doubt she was considering different hexes she would have used on him if she had her wand. His eyes lowered on her slightly pouted lips and he felt a strong desire to just bend his head and take her lips with his own but he resisted. Now was not the time…or the place for that matter.

"Now come," he motioned again and she followed this time albeit reluctantly.

* * *

They followed the main road into Braithwaite, walking as silently as they could. At the first house, a blue one story building with smashed windows and dark red stains on the walls that Hermione refused to identify, they began to skulk their way around. Lucius had decided to proceed first and she was grateful for that. Gryffindor bravery or not, she was still a woman prone to unreasonable fright but she had every reason to be fearful. She could die!

Rounding the corner of the house, Lucius suddenly stopped and Hermione, deep in her thoughts about fear and how she disliked the place, was not paying attention. She walked into his back. He hissed in pain, the sudden jolt disagreeing with his wounded ribs.

"Do pay attention to where you're going," he scolded.

"Sorry," she mumbled, then, "Why did you stop?"

He was silent for a moment then he said, "I am unsure whether you can stomach the sight or if you'll faint and become a problem."

She began to shake, "What is it? What's the matter?"

"There are bodies," he said simply.

She shook even harder. The last time there were bodies, they had belonged to her family and friends. But she had braved that so certainly she could do the same now? After all, she knew none of them. There would be no emotional attachment.

She stiffened her back and walked around Lucius' still form and was greeted by a gruesome view. So many bodies lay in the street: men and women and even children. Majority had obviously been tortured, their mouths opened wide in silent screams of pain. Some had been tortured so viciously, their bodies had contorted into something grotesque and unidentifiable.

And there, amongst them, Hermione spotted a girl, (no older than thirteen, she wagered) with red hair. She had a striking resemblance to Ginny. And there, beside the girl was a young man with the same red hair who really had a likeness to Ron. And there…right there, was that Harry? He had black hair, wild like Harry's and Hermione was sure, if she stepped closer she'd see green eyes staring sightlessly upwards. Just like Harry's would've been if she'd seen him when he'd—

With a sob, she turned away, hysteria and grief forcing her to seek comfort in Lucius Malfoy's chest. She jammed her face into his robes and bawled her eyes out, uncaring who she was leaning against. He did not shove her away in disgust and he did not encircle her body into a comforting hug. He merely stood there, allowing her to release her tears and her snot on his person. She was grateful for that although something in the recesses of her mind told her she had no reason to be grateful to him. After all, he was the reason why she cried. His allegiance to the Dark Lord had given Voldemort strength and the means to hurt her and those she loved. It was his fault. All his!

The thought sobered her up and she lifted her head from his chest, wiping away the snot from her nose with her sleeve, to stare up into his face. He looked at her steadily, his face neutral, his eyes giving nothing away. She wondered to herself how someone so handsome on the outside could be so horrid and ugly on the inside. How could someone be so vile yet when he spoke, the timbre of his voice sent delicious shivers up her spine from time to time. How could she hate a man like this with such passion yet feel attracted to him as well?

"You bastard," she said bitterly. "I hate you. I wish you'd die."

He said quietly, "You are not the first and you certainly won't be the last," and he walked around her to continue their journey.


	7. Chapter Seven

Eventually, after ascertaining that no threats were lurking about, they took abode in a small one-storey bungalow. It was one of the few houses that hadn't smashed windows, pools of blood and dead occupants lying about. There two rooms—ransacked completely as though the former tenants had tried to flea their demise—one bathroom, a living room (just as chaotic), a dining room and a kitchen. Besides the main entrance door, there was a door just to the back where the living room ended and a kitchen door as well. This pleased them immensely for in case of trouble, there was a chance for immediate escape.

Water was accessible to the house and each took a bath. Hermione wanted to sing for joy but she resorted to humming merrily. Though there wasn't much to be happy about. The owners of the house were possibly among the dead bodies rotting outside and the ones responsible were probably making rounds to make sure they weren't any survivors. But still, she couldn't resist the small bubble of elation as the grime and stink rolled off her skin and as the clumps of dirt washed free from her hair.

She couldn't tell last she'd had a nice hot bath. The year spent in hiding made her options limited. There was only the small spring and the water was usually ice cold. Despite the circumstances of which she was taking her present bath, she couldn't feel too guilty. She was going to enjoy whatever little she could so she turned the dial on the shower to as hot as she could bear.

There were feminine garments in one of the dressers in the master bedroom. Although the sizes on the labels were similar to her own, most were much too big when she tried them. It was a testament to how much weight she'd lost, although the mirror, advertising slightly gaunt cheeks and sharp collarbones, was proof enough. She eventually found a light blue summer dress that had short sleeves and ended just at her knees. An unwise choice for the current winter weather but it was the only thing that didn't make her look unflatteringly skinny.

Food was also plentiful in the kitchen. Some were fresh and some were not at all but Hermione didn't mind. Food was food, spoiled or not, when one had gone through starvation and had come out on the other end alive. She promptly made two fat ham sandwiches, skillfully picking out the moldy bits on the bread and toasting it to get rid of the stale taste. A moment of greediness overtook her and she nearly ate both sandwiches by herself but her heart resisted and she carried the other to Lucius.

He lifted an eyebrow, probably in astonishment. Hermione wasn't sure.

"How gracious of you to prepare a meal for someone you loathe,"

He was dressed in a clean pair of black trousers and a stark, white, long-sleeved shirt which he'd rolled up to the elbows. The clothes were a perfect fit and Hermione became irrationally jealous. He'd even found shoes that fit! A pair of nice, shiny (obviously new) black ones at that. He'd also washed his hair and pulled it back in his customary ponytail. Sitting languidly with his legs crossed and his hands entwined in his lap, he was the perfect picture of handsomeness, aristocracy and good breeding.

And Merlin if he wasn't good looking! The warm bath had rejuvenated his skin and his hair; his sickly pallor had deserted him. He'd unbuttoned two of the topmost buttons of the shirt and she could see he was devoid of chest hair, something that secretly pleased her. Of course, she knew this from bathing him herself a few days ago and what a wonderful sight that had been…

She forced her wayward thoughts to a halt. No, she hated this man! Hated him! There was never any good in lusting after someone you hated!

She nodded to herself, feeling as though she'd been led astray but had been put to rights, back on the solid and rightful path of 'Hate Lucius Malfoy'. She raised her eyes to meet his, a blush rising furiously in her cheeks when she realized he'd been watching her watching him.

Feeling shy all of a sudden and neglecting to give him a saucy retort for his prior statement, she stammered out, "I-it's just a sandwich,"

He remained silent, his gaze direct and intense. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes began to drag downwards in a lazy and deliberate once-over, purposely lingering on her breasts which she knew were bare and unrestrained by a bra. Her skin began to tingle with awareness and she was mortified to feel the sudden tightening of her nipples. Without further ado, she dropped the plate with the remaining sandwich into his lap and scampered off to the bedroom.

In the evening, after much hesitation and indecision (on Hermione's part; Lucius could have cared less), it was decided they would occupy one bedroom instead of each taking their own. It was the master bedroom, which had two separate beds and Hermione was thankful that such was the case. She couldn't envision herself struggling to push and pull a bed from the second bedroom. It would be too much of a hassle and the noise it would make would certainly alert any evil-intentioned passersby.

"Miss Granger, are you knowledgeable of any pain-relieving Muggle potions?"

Hermione jumped slightly at the sudden sound of his voice in the still and quiet darkness. Images from earlier returned without a calling and she began to feel embarrassed all over again. After that episode, she'd purposely avoided him by sticking her nose into a book from the library of the second bedroom. The contents of the book she couldn't remember for her mind kept replaying him giving her that _look_ no matter how hard she tried to forget.

"Well, not potions, per se," she said at length. "Maybe pills…like Tylenol. I guess I can take a look see." And she got up, eager to have her mind occupied with a task.

* * *

Lucius decided he was enjoying himself a whole lot more than he was a few days ago. A good, long bath and a meal had revitalized him and, truthfully, his injuries didn't hurt as much. The pain in his ribs and arm had dulled somewhat. He was over the hill of doubt, bound for definite recovery. There was no speculation of death of this current lifestyle continued. He'd be fit enough in a week to pursue his objective.

That was not the only reason he was in high spirits. He'd just come to realise that maybe the girl was all talk but no action. She claimed she hated him and she declared she'd kill him herself but she was doing quite the opposite. Instead, she persisted in making him well and gave him appreciative looks. Was Miss Granger, dare he say it, _interested_ him? _Attracted_ to him? No, it couldn't be!

He smirked to himself, gazing in the direction he heard her rummaging from. He decided he'd like to test his theory. The reaction he'd garnered earlier had been good. He doubted she'd have resisted if he'd tried something then. And he nearly did too if she hadn't run away.

"Maybe in the bathroom…" she mused aloud and headed in that direction.

Lucius rose from his bed, following the path she'd taken. There wasn't any 'electrickery' (or some such Muggle terminology the girl had used in reference to light) and they'd foregone lighting candles to avoid conspicuity. The entire house was dark but it did not deter him. His eyes had adjusted and he could see well enough.

He found her bent over, fumbling around in the cupboard below the sink. Through the closed window, a half moon shown, throwing a bit of light into the bathroom. The girl had worn an over-sized t-shirt that stopped somewhere near her knees but bending over as she was, it rode up, awarding him a nice view of her rounded bottom and the back of her shapely legs.

Straightening up, she turned towards him standing at the door, not seeing him yet for she was squinting at a box she held. Head bent, she began to walk, mumbling about whether it was the correct thing. She let out a startled little scream when she bumped into Lucius, dropping the box as well.

"Miss Granger, you really should pay more attention to your surroundings," he drawled.

"W-what are you doing here?" She stuttered.

"I came to help you search," he replied simply.

"Oh," she said, dropping her eyes to his chest, resplendent in all its nakedness for he wore no shirt, "Well," she continued, reuniting her eyes with his, "I don't need it anymore. I-I think I found it."

Lucius was very sure she was blushing to the roots of her hair. The girl really was so very virginal. It was a shame Weasley or Potter hadn't the chance to rid her of it. Things might have been easier. Oh well, maybe he'll sacrifice himself to the cause…

"Are you sure?" he bent and picked up the box, pretending to examine it. "Hardly looks useful,"

"The contents are," she said, licking her lips nervously. Lucius followed this action with great interest. "It'll ease the pain…somewhat,"

"I can think," he took a step forward into the bathroom and she took a step backward for he'd invaded her personal space, "of another alternative." He took another step.

Stepping backward again and looking alarmed, she asked, "What do you mean? What are you getting at?"

The bathroom was not very big and his third step ensured that when she stepped backward, she would be against a wall and she _did_ step backward, looking very panicked and like a trapped rabbit when she met the resistance. He eased in close, his body mere inches from her own. Planting one hand against the wall, just beside her shoulder to prevent escape, he used the other to caress her neck, rubbing circles with his thumb.

"Do not play dumb," he said softly.

In shocked tones, "You've got to be joking,"

"I think not," and he bent his head and kissed her.

* * *

Hermione came to understand the meaning of 'surreal' a whole lot more. In a real world, in the _right_ world, she despised Lucius, his beliefs and his past misdeeds. He hated her too and thought she was lower than low. She was not attracted to him and vice versa. They would quicker commit suicide than even so much as hug let alone share a kiss. This was the real world. In a _surreal_ world, it was quite the opposite. They'd want each other with a passion they couldn't deny regardless of societal boundaries. They'd kiss feverishly and go at it to rival the bunnies. Yes, that was the surreal world.

So what world was she in? She hated him but wanted him. She did not want him touching her but enjoyed it when he did. She would _never_ go all the way and…do _that_ but could see it happening in the foreseeable future. Where was she? Was it like those Venn diagrams in Muggle mathematics and she was an occupant of the third section created by the first two that joined? Part of the surreal and the real?

Lucius Malfoy was kissing her. She could feel his lips pressed against her own. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip and she gasped in surprise. It was the opportunity he needed and he immediately stuck his tongue in her mouth. Letting out a sound of protest, she began to twist her face away but he pressed his body close to her own. Holding her head in place with the hand at her neck, he attacked her mouth with more vigor and before Hermione knew, she was enjoying the attention and returning his kiss with equal fervor.

Caught up in the moment, Hermione moaned low into his mouth when he smoothed his other hand up under her shirt to fondle her breast. He weighed the mound in his palm, cupping it and tweaking and pinching the nipple into hardness. He released her mouth to suck at her neck while he played with the nipple of the other breast. Then without warning, he lifted her shirt over her head, tossing it aside carelessly, leaving her only in her panties and common sense reappeared.

_What are you doing? This is Lucius Malfoy! Stop this, he's only using you! Are you going to give your virginity away to someone so vile? How could you? What would Harry and Ron think?_

But such thoughts, along with common sense, evaporated instantly when his mouth encircled her right breast and began to suck. He diddled her nipple with his tongue, bit it and sucked it hard then proceeded to give the same such attention to the other. The sensations, new and powerful, had a drugging effect and she could only gasp out little moans of encouragement.

But it wasn't enough. She wanted more, whatever he had to offer she'd take and then some. She flattened her hand on the back of his head and pressed his face closely to her chest. Frustrated, feeling a deep rooted need for _something_ she began to wiggle her hips.

"Please…" she whispered.

She felt his smile on her flesh, "Patience, my dear."

He returned his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply while his hand drifted downward to press his fingers against her womanhood. Then he began to ease her panties aside. Anticipation and anxiety gripped Hermione. His finger grazed her heated flesh and she let out a little moan but then, all of a sudden, he wrenched his mouth away from hers and slapped a palm over her mouth.

The fog in her brain cleared immediately. She looked up at him, wondering (and disappointed) why he'd stopped so suddenly. She noticed he had his head cocked towards the window and as she opened her mouth to ask what the matter was, she heard the voices as well.

* * *

He wanted to murder whoever it was that had chosen this moment to make an appearance. Just when things had progressed quite nicely, it had to be curtailed. He'd never experienced such wonderful satisfaction as when Hermione Granger was docile and willing in his arms. In a few short moments, he would have had her on her back, moaning his name in pleasure with her sweet little mouth. But, alas, it was not to be.

A stricken look had overtaken her features and whatever hold he'd had on her was certainly gone by now. He doubted if he made another attempt he'd get through tonight. There was also the matter of the unknown persons skulking about. Lucius could hear their boots, clunking about. There was also the distinct slamming of doors, as if a search was being executed.

Releasing the girl, he sidled closer to the closed window and risked a glance outside. There was much light but he could just make out a large male figure, skulking around the dead bodies, bent over and searching through their pockets.

 _Thieves, then?_ Thought Lucius as he spied another figure exiting a house nearby.

"Got anything?" Queried the one that had just left the house. He was carrying something in his hand but Lucius could not make out what it was.

"Sure did," said the figure, still searching through the pockets. "Some of 'em had plenty on 'em."

"What d'you think happened 'ere?"

"Dunno…but we lucked out, dinnit we?" Replied he uncaringly.

"Let's make a 'it on this one, then?" And the second thief nodded in the direction of the bungalow that Lucius and Hermione occupied. "Looks like it's got loads."

"Oh no," the girl gasped out and Lucius turned to look at her. Greatest horror was written all over her face and Lucius wondered why that would be. After all, they could easily conceal themselves beneath the Invisibility cloak and prevent themselves from being seen. So he told her as much.

"No! I forgot it downstairs in the living room," she replied in frantic tones. "What are we going to do?"

"Do not fret," he replied. "There are other places we can hide."

Before they could make a move, they heard the front door opened up. "Anybody home?" called one, he paused then with a chuckle he continued, "Didn't think so!"

Gripping her hand, he quietly led them out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He surveyed the room, disappointed to find no suitable hiding place besides the beneath the beds. He contemplated jumping through the windows but saw that they were secured by cell-like bars. Not only that, it was freezing outside and the girl was practically naked.

He couldn't resist another look. She was preoccupied with darting furtive looks about, one hand clamped over her breasts for meager protection but it was a fruitless endeavor. It only enhanced their fullness and Lucius felt himself slowly becoming hard again. Oh how close he'd come to enjoying her sweet, young body.

She turned her head and caught him leering at her. Angered, she wrenched her hands away and darted back to the bathroom, most likely for her abandoned shirt. By now, he could hear that the thieves had advanced to the first bedroom and soon would be on their way to the master bedroom.

And then he remembered what he was. He was no mere Muggle. He was a wizard, a skilled one too with the knowledge of a few wandless spells and without a doubt, those thieves were Muggles. When the girl re-entered the bedroom, he quickly questioned whether she knew any defensive wandless spells.

"I only know the Confundus charm," she said just as one of the thieves stepped into the bedroom.

The thief, the one Lucius had seen exiting the house, was a scrawny fellow with non-descript features. He was of average height and had the plainest face and dull brown eyes. He looked as surprised to see them as they were to see him and just as he was about to open his mouth, probably to alert his counterpart, Hermione wiggled her fingers at him and shouted, "Confundo!"

Lucius felt a small wave of magical energy but apparently it had done nothing to the man, so without wasting time, he snatched up the heavy tome on the bedside table of one of the beds and rushed the man who screamed girlishly in fright.

Ruthlessly, and with strength he had not realized he'd regained, Lucius whacked the man over his head with the heavy tome over and over again to ensure his death or at least deep unconsciousness. By this time, the other thief had heard the ruckus and came running, calling, "Jerry! Jerry!"

* * *

He was indeed a large man, tall and hulking with a bulging musculature. There was a menacing look on his face as he glared at Hermione and then at Lucius, who still held the now bloody tome in his hand. He growled, a sound quite similar to an angry dog, and made for Lucius.

Two things happened at once. Just as Hermione remembered her greatest specialty: conjuring fire at free will and throwing a ball of the bluebell flames, Lucius whispered an incantation then swished his hand in the man's direction. There was a sharp sound like a whip striking skin and the man screamed in pain then horror when immediately after that, his body ignited in flames.

The man thrashed around, howling in excruciating pain. Feeling sorry for him, Hermione scrambled for a bed sheet and proceeded to out the fire. By the time she'd put him out of his misery, he'd gone unconscious just like his partner. Burnt marks blistered his skin and his clothes were charred and blackened. Nausea overcame her momentarily. The man had been innocent. There was no need for her to have given him such a fate.

Repentant, she looked up and saw Lucius turning out the pockets of the first thief, taking whatever he found there.

Shocked, "What are you doing?"

He didn't bother looking up. "We have no money."

"So you're _stealing_ from them?" She asked incredulously. "It'll make you no better than these barbarians!"

He looked up then, his gaze direct and piercing, making her uncomfortable and aware of what she'd just said. When was he ever above barbarianism in her books? As a matter of fact, he was the epitome of cruelty, brutality and insensitivity. She'd convinced herself ten times over that he was as evil as they could come.

It seemed he'd heard her thoughts, "When was I ever, Miss Granger?"

She decided not to respond.


	8. Chapter Eight

The following day brought with it a drawback. After swinging his arm about and exerting himself the previous night against the burglars, Lucius awoke to find he'd reopened the deep cut in his arm and that his ribs were paining him more than ever. His plans to leave the town that day had to be scrapped and neither he nor the girl was pleased with the new turn of events.

_Draco…I must free Draco…_

He wanted to rescue his son, no, he _needed_ to rescue him. Draco was the only living reminder of what he and Narcissa had created together. He would never forgive himself if Draco died at the hands of the Dark Lord just as his late wife had. No, he couldn't lose his son because of the choices he'd made. He'd already lost his wife in that fashion. Her senseless death had pained him beyond words, much to his surprise. He hadn't realised how much he'd cared for her…loved her…until that moment in time when her soul had departed her body and he was left with an hollow feeling that something inside him had been severed.

Nevertheless, she was dead and should Draco follow his mother's path, Lucius didn't doubt that his late wife would find a way to punish him cruelly to his own death. He smiled to himself, remembering how Narcissa's spite was unrivaled but was soon broken out of his reverie when a stinging pain suddenly attacked his shoulder. He hissed and pulled away.

"Stop being a baby," said the girl icily as she grabbed his arm again, cleaning his wound with a clear liquid that exuded a pungent odor.

He surveyed her as she continued to do her work. Her face was a mask of stoniness, the corners of her mouth settled downwards in disapproval. Her resemblance to McGonagall was remarkable but he dared not say so aloud. Doubtless, Miss Granger was at her limit once again and the slightest negative remark or action could trigger another attempt to flee.

And Lucius did not want that.

He wanted more than he cared to admit to and was disgusted with himself. His behaviour the night before with the girl was appalling to say the least. He, once the greatest despiser of all things non-Pureblooded had nearly made love to a Muggle-born _girl_ and no doubt he would've enjoyed it. Whatever scraps of dignity he'd managed to save after escaping the Dark Lord's clutches had been obliterated the moment he'd kissed her and broken his personal maxim that Muggle-borns and Purebloods should never mix.

Furthermore, there was no denying that Miss Granger was far too young to be considered a romantic interest (if even that). She may be of age but, Merlin, he was old enough to be her father. She would be just about the same age as Draco. He could vividly remember the time she was a scrawny, buck-toothed, irritating swot that hadn't proper learning on when to keep her mouth shut. How could he have lain with her with those memories of her more innocent times revolving in his head?

A moment of incredulity passed within himself. He believed he was slowly growing old and senile indeed. Memories of innocent times? He'd taken girls at those ages…even younger during his Death Eater raids. Miss Granger was now a woman and he'd ascertained this fact when he'd gotten a good look and feel of how much her body had grown into full womanliness.

Unbidden, an image of himself fondling her breasts came to mind and he slowly began to get hard. He tried in vain to eradicate the image and when that failed, he pushed the source of those thoughts away in irritation.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, but that will be all," he said quietly.

Hermione, who'd been slightly open-mouthed, frowned as she rose to her feet. "Are you dismissing me?"

"I think the rest will be manageable,"

"But it needs to be wrapped and your ribs…" she trailed away at his pointed look. "Fine, do what you want."

He watched as she swiftly left the room.

* * *

Hermione breathed a deep sigh of relief as soon as she closed the door. Being in Lucius Malfoy's presence was a nerve-wracking ordeal and compounded with the events that had transpired the night before, she'd nearly crumbled before him from the stress. It had taken immense will power to face him that morning, more so than when she'd had to muster the courage to fight in the War.

She also hadn't a wink of sleep. How could she when Lucius' hands seemed to have imprinted themselves upon her body, disallowing her mind to forget his touch? In the light of day, she was mortified when she examined her wanton behaviour. She longed for a wand and a willing participant to perform an Obliviate upon her. She just wanted to forget.

But forget she won't. It was all she could think about presently. Even the thieves and the chaos outside could not deter her mind's eye away from her humongous mistake.

How could she be so stupid? She asked herself for the umpteenth time that morning. How could she have allowed such a vile man touch her like that. What would have happened had the thieves not created a disturbance? Would she have awoken to find she'd given her one remaining virtue to the man who was just as responsible as Voldemort for the death of her friends and family?

The thought sickened her and tears of shame sprung to her eyes as she walked away from the door. She wondered if Harry and Ron were able to see her actions, and if they did, what they thought about their friend. She imagined Harry's quiet disdain and fury and Ron's vocal cry of disgust and outrage and she didn't blame them. She repulsed even herself.

_I need to leave this place. Nothing good can come of me staying here…_

But she'd made a promise, hadn't she? She'd given Lucius Malfoy her word to care for him until he'd healed considerably.

_But healing him is hurting me…_

Yes, Lucius Malfoy was hurting her. Not physically but mentally. He was warping her clear-cut beliefs on what was wrong and what wasn't. She was attracted to him and he knew it and he was taking advantage of this knowledge. And he was slowly growing on her. She was beginning to start to truly care for his well-being and this was wrong; maybe not wrong but unfair for Lucius Malfoy did not care about her.

And why should she care about breaking her promise anyway? Her world had fast become a game of survival of the fittest and Lucius Malfoy harmed her survival. His 'master' wanted his head on a platter and was murdering whole towns in search of him. As far as she knew, Voldemort could care less about her but should she be found in company of his disobedient servant, he'd count it as killing two birds with one stone.

Many reasons, formed from both past and present experiences, went through Hermione's head as to why she should not stay with Lucius Malfoy anymore. Before she knew it, she'd found herself at the kitchen door's entrance, her hand on the knob, torn in two about her decision.

_And if I stay here, my attraction would only grow into something more…_

It was the most horrifying thought to grace her mind. To feel something more towards her friends' murderer was beyond imaginable but not impossible.

_No, not impossible…oh, God, I've got to leave this place!_

She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"Miss Granger,"

She froze. A mixture of shock and shame at being caught overcame her. She dared not turn around.

"Miss Granger, if you are about to run away, once again, I think it would be most unfortunate to have forgotten your Invisibility Cloak, don't you?"

She turned around, her face hot with embarrassment. "Who's to say I was running away?"

"Your determined face spoke volumes," he replied dryly. "Here, if you must go, take your cloak and be gone." He draped the cloak over the back of the chair and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" She choked out, suddenly feeling sorry for the decision she'd made. He stopped and inclined his head to give her a sideways look. "Wh-what about your shoulder?"

"I have dealt with it," he said in perfunctory tones.

"A-and your ribs…?"

"I will cope."

"But what about the medication…grinding, chopping, brewing…?"

He turned fully and gave her his most direct stare then answered, "I don't need you. Thank you, thus far, Miss Granger but I've no need of you anymore. Best wishes on your journey to Merlin knows where." And with that, he walked away.

* * *

Lucius was very surprised when hours later, after a restless, pain-filled nap, he found the girl sitting near the windows, playing with the curtains as she stared outside. On the bedside table was a plate of sandwiches, a glass of water and the horrid concoction she usually brewed for him to drink to cure his ribs.

He sat up slowly, his body stiff and paining him. Jerkily, he grabbed the glass of water and drank it all in one go. Settling the glass back where it was, he looked up and saw the girl had stood and was watching him.

He studied her, noting that she'd changed clothing. She wore yet another summer dress, emerald, that was becoming on her figure and she'd wrestled her wild mane into a high ponytail, giving her face a very youthful look. Lucius just couldn't understand how he'd never realized sooner that Hermione Granger was beautiful.

"Stop looking at me like that, Lucius," she said into the silence.

It was the first time her lips had spoken his name and Lucius was could not deny he enjoyed it. He thought to himself that he would relish the pleasure a lot more if those lips cried his name while he—

He fought to steer his mind away from that direction.

"Pray tell, in what way am I looking at you?"

"Like you want to eat me,"

"Surely not," he replied, "I was merely thinking that the dress becomes you,"

Her cheeks grew pink, "It's the only one that's my size," then, "Anyway, you tossed and turned in your sleep but I see you've awoken in good spirits."

"Indeed. And I see you've decided to stay."

Silence befell them momentarily before she said quietly, "Yes, because it's much too cold outside."

* * *

They ate in awkward silence. After he'd coughed down her home-made medication (much to her secret pleasure, for she'd purposely made it very bitter), things took a turn for the worst when it was time for her to bandage him. He'd pronounced mightily that he'd dealt with it but Hermione knew he hadn't managed at all. She wanted to avoid touching him as least as possible but she knew leaving the cut opened would create room for infection.

"You've no bandage on, have you?"

He took a few moments before he admitted that he did not.

"Well, it needs bandaging," she said bossily. "Take off your shirt."

With each button opened and each new portion of skin revealed, Hermione became tenser and tenser. She smoothed his shirt off his shoulders and she immediately remembered smoothing her hands over them as he kissed her. She grabbed his biceps to lift the affected arm to examine the wound and her mind's eye showed herself grabbing those same muscles to hold herself up as he suckled on her breasts.

She sat there on the bed, staring at Lucius Malfoy's arm, frozen in time and in imagery. She looked up and their eyes connected. Her body began to feel warm all over; a sudden yearning for him to touch her overcame her.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly…sensually, was what her mind told her. He placed his hands on the side of her neck and she leaned into his touch as he used his thumbs to rub circles against her skin. His eyes settled on her lips and she knew what he wanted to do. She knew if she told him to kiss her, he'd do so without a moment's hesitation and she knew that he'd kiss her with or without her telling him to do it as well.

_But why?_

Why would Lucius Malfoy want to kiss her? Wasn't he repulsed by what they were doing? Where were his firm ideologies about blood status when they both need them most? When did he stop being disgusted by her touch and start welcoming it? When did he change?

"Why, Malfoy?" She whispered.

His eyes met hers; he knew what she was asking, "I have no idea,"

"This is wrong,"

"Indeed, it is," he said quietly, continuing to rub his thumb against her throat.

"Have you no shame?"

"Have you?"

"I do," she whispered, "I'm terribly ashamed," She lifted her head away from his hand and ignored the regret at the lost of contact. "I will never forgive you for what you did to me last night,"

He looked at her steadily before replying, "Miss Granger, I have been meting out apology after apology during our adventure. It is a humbling experience. But aren't you tired of me groveling?"

"No, a groveling Malfoy puts me into fits of pleasure,"

"I see," he nodded, "then I apologize for my actions yesterday and I assure you that it shall not repeat itself."

"No!" She shouted, getting to her feet. "That isn't enough anymore, Malfoy. That isn't enough!"

"Then what shall suffice?"

"I'm fed up of walking around blindly with you without knowing why," she said. "Why, Malfoy? Why are you fighting so hard to stay alive? Why are you willing to _grovel to a Mudblood_?"

He said nothing, only stared at her intensely as always. That same intense look that always made her turn away first. It was his silent trick of evasiveness but she was determined to not back down this time. Even if her eyes watered, she'd stare him down until he opened his mouth and—

"Very well, Miss Granger."

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"I will tell you why,"

"Really? Why?"

He frowned at her, "Didn't you demand it of me?"

"Will it be the truth?"

"Miss Granger, stop being foolish. If I were to tell you the truth you would not know whether or not if it was. Simply accept what I'm about to say _is_ the truth."

"Alright then, Mr. Malfoy," she conceded, "what is the truth?"

"I'm on my way to murder the Dark Lord."


	9. Chapter Nine

"Where does he live?"

"You shall see."

"How can he help you?"

"He has his methods."

"Why him?"

"Miss Granger, do cease your incessant questioning," commanded Lucius in annoyed tones. "Your inquiries will be answered should you decide to accompany me. If not, satisfy yourself with whatever prior knowledge of my quest I've given you thus far."

"But I want to know _now_ ," Hermione retorted persistently.

"I will not disclose anymore if I've not the guarantee that you'll not speak my plans to the Dark Lord or his minions."

"And by guarantee, you mean me following you blindly to Merlin knows where, like cattle to the slaughterhouse."

Annoyed, "Miss Granger, I tire of your dramatics. Leave me be."

Hermione was affronted by his bluntness and determined resistance to answering her questions. She wanted answers and he refused to give her that satisfaction, opting instead for vague responses. The most distinct he'd been thus far was his purpose and who was going to help him accomplish it.

Three days had slipped by after Lucius' admission and during such time she'd taken to peppering him with questions. Finally, after calling her an annoying, nosy chit who couldn't keep her mouth shut, he relented in apology by divulging that the man he intended to see was named Igor Grogoch.

_Igor Grogoch? Sounds Goblin…is he?_

_Yes, he is. Mostly._

_Who is he, then?_

_You shall know in time._

_How is he going to help you?_

_Miss Granger…please…do be quiet…_

Hermione knew her thirst for knowledge was insatiable. Whether it be the most mundane to the most complex, she enjoyed the feeling of learning something new. Hermione also knew that, occasionally, the quest to quench her thirst led to pestering others. And this she was good at as well. What did it matter if an individual tired of her? Who cared if they found her questioning exhausting? She knew very well that eventually a person can only go so far before they relented to her demands.

But Lucius Malfoy was different. She'd not managed to make him crumble one whit. He'd held steadfastly to his secret despite her purposeful onslaught of inquiries. _You shall know in time,_ he said. She didn't want to wait. She wanted to know. She needed to know when, where, and how he was going to kill Voldemort and she needed to know _now_.

She tried to stem her impatience. Pacifying herself with the knowledge that patience was a virtue and good things came to those who waited. Voldemort's murder—fundamentally evil as murdering someone was—would be a good thing and should she have to wait for it, wait for it she would. She convinced herself that the journey to find this Igor Grogoch would be an enjoyable one. It would regain a purpose in her life; another mission to accomplish alongside healing Lucius Malfoy on the outside…and possibly also within.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you're well enough to travel today?"

The girl was looking at him anxiously and not for the first time Lucius wondered whether she had genuinely begun to care for him. He wondered how he should feel about such a development. He tried to summon disgust but failed. He couldn't deny that it was heartening to know that in a world where everyone wanted him dead, one person cared about his well-being.

_But she is a Muggle-born._

Indeed, she was. Her heritage could not be denied. Her uncouth, disrespectful and irrational ways were testament to her disgraceful blood lineage. However, on occasion, he found he could overlook her bad habits and enjoy the good. She was smart; her moments of wittiness pulled at the corners of his mouth and her theatrics never ceased to amuse him. She was attractive but even more so when she was ready to fight or argue. In those moments, he fought himself from grabbing her and taking her. More often than not, he had to forcefully remind himself why having the Muggle-born girl would be a _very_ bad idea.

Still his memory refused to disregard that chance night when he'd been allowed to map her body with his hands…

 _Good, very good,_ he thought. It was more than apparent that he was merely sexually attracted to Miss Granger and nothing more. He'd begun to feel a bit of a niggle in the back of his mind that maybe his _feelings_ —loathe as he was to say the word—for the girl ran a little deeper than the physical. It was well and good for her to care for him but not vice versa. He had an image to maintain, albeit mentally. He could not go around, caring for Muggle-born girls.

* * *

Presently, they were getting ready to leave Braithwaite and head for where Igor resided. Hermione could not contain her excitement. She felt like her ten year old self, during the moments her parents were making last minute plans and packing their suitcases for a trip to France or Australia or Egypt. She'd bounce about, fidgety and overexcited to the point where her parents would demand in exasperated tones that she sit still and be quiet.

Reminiscing on her parents, she became subdued. She reminded herself that she was no longer ten but twenty and that her excitement was uncalled for. She wasn't heading off on a joyous adventure with her parents to a foreign land where she could explore and learn new and wondrous things. On the contrary, her journey was, no doubt, going to be a complicated and arduous affair considering who she had for a companion. Moreover, she did not know where she was going and whether she'd live to see her destination.

_But why should I care whether I live or not? I won't miss anyone and no-one will miss me…_

Indeed, all her loved ones were presumably dead and the only living human being she'd had recent interactions with despised the very blood that ran through her veins. Would Lucius Malfoy miss her? She nearly rolled on the floor with bitter laughter at the ludicrous thought. It was more likely that he'd miss her _services_ , her nursemaid abilities that benefited his health but he would not miss _her_. Oh no, Lucius Malfoy could care a whole lot less whether she just stopped breathing this very moment and died.

However, she felt a tiny constriction in her chest at the thought. She nearly begun to examine this feeling but was brought out of her musings when Lucius entered the room.

"Miss Granger, have you finished gathering everything you need?"

She stared at the suitcase full of things she'd packed and Lucius' gaze followed hers, widening slightly. "Surely you don't mean to carry this much?"

She pursed her mouth, "It's everything we _need_."

A lifted eyebrow indicated that he did not believe her. "There is money. Whatever we require we can purchase."

Hermione scoffed, "That is _stolen_ money. Blood money!"

She could see the effort it took him not to roll his eyes before he said in a terse voice, "Regardless of how it was acquired, the money would aid us. Please do hasten your steps as it shall be dark soon and the night will only impede our journey." With that said, he turned and left the room.

Hermione was displeased with his commanding tone of voice and a moment of spite overtook her before she relented and admitted that spiting him would only be spiting herself. She dutifully chose only the most necessary of the items: the Invisibility cloak, clean pairs of underwear, painkillers, gauze, a few medicinal solutions, some water, some food and a knife—for good and not so good purposes. She'd managed to find a school backpack (belonging, she assumed, to the child of the house) and had packed the necessities within. She gazed longingly at the extra dress she'd wanted to take but turned away, convincing herself that at least a change of underwear would be good enough.

She hoisted the backpack over her shoulders, testing whether it would become like a cross to bear when the going got tough, but found that it was light and manageable.

"I'm ready," she announced to Lucius, where she found him, with his cloak already on, tapping his finger impatiently against the chair's armrest. He nodded, stood and made his way to the front door with Hermione trailing quietly behind him.

* * *

The moment Lucius had opened the door, after peering about and ascertaining that no-one was lurking in waiting, the force of the stench hit them both powerfully enough that Lucius shut the door close in surprise. The smell was awful; a live thing that clawed at their noses and throats, denying them clean, fresh air and engendering nausea. Lucius could see that the girl looked ready to heave the sandwich she'd had for lunch onto the floor and sincerely hoped that she did not.

Instead, she made an about face and ran off in the direction of the kitchen. Just as he was about to follow her, she returned with two pieces of cloth with ragged edges that bore a suspicious resemblance to the kitchen table covering. She took one portion and fashioned it into a mask that covered her nose and mouth then beckoned him to turn around so she could make one for him as well.

He was too tall so they returned to the dining room where he sat at one of the chairs. She placed the cloth over his nose, her fingers grazing his cheeks lightly, and tied the cloth firm and neatly behind his head. The cloth had snagged a few strands of his hair and he felt her loosening them, running her hands through his hair. It felt good. Her hands running through his hair felt very good. He wished for her to continue but was conscious of the time.

"Come, let us go," he said, his voice muffled by the makeshift mask.

They braced themselves as Lucius opened the door a second time but the stench was just as powerful, forcing its way in and attacking their sense of smell through their meager cloth protection.

"Oh Merlin!" gasped Hermione, tears springing involuntarily to her eyes.

"Run," said Lucius and they began to do just that.

When they were finally clear of the rotting bodies and unpleasant odour, they slowed to a walk as they'd both ran out of breath. The winter breeze was icy-cold, robbing them of what little warmth they had and slicing their windpipes like knives as they greedily gulped down air to steady their erratic breathing and racing of their hearts.

Lucius' wounds had already begun to protest the recent task of running. His shoulders and ribs, recovering still, throbbed steadily with pain. He was frustrated with how easily his body was deteriorating. He knew he was no longer a springy twenty year old but he hardly considered himself _old_. He wanted to heal as quickly as possible. He had a task to complete and it required his health and his body be at its best.

He felt the girl gently tugging on his cloak and he halted his steps, unreasonably annoyed with her.

"Here," she said, grabbing his hand and placing two red pills into his palm. "Drink them down with the water."

He took the offered bottle of water, lifted the mask and swallowed the pills, chasing them with the water. His annoyance at the girl immediately dissipated. He silently wondered how she'd known he was in pain. She certainly wouldn't have seen him looking it as the mask still covered most of his face. Was she so attuned to his body that she knew when it needed what?

He returned the bottle to her, their gazes locked momentarily before she turned her eyes away shyly. "I hope you feel better," she said quietly before she turned and continued walking.

* * *

_I hope you feel better…_

_I hope you feel better…_

The words looped in her mind, like the time when her Dad's favourite and very old Frank Sinatra vinyl record had gone bad and the first stanza kept repeating itself. _I hope you feel better, I hope you feel better, I hope you feel better…_

She prayed fervently that on her next step, the earth would open up and swallow her whole. She was embarrassed and she'd brought it on her own head. What would Lucius Malfoy think? Of course, that the nosy, talkative, annoying chit _cared_ for him! And following that thought, he'd only laugh himself to death at the thought.

She hoped he'd laugh himself to death, that way she would avoid facing him ever again and she never, ever wanted to face him after what she'd said. _I hope you feel better…_

Merlin, she wanted to kill herself. She just wanted to die. How could she have allowed herself to come to this point? Wasn't this very same reason why she'd nearly run away a few days ago? When had she gone from hating the very air that he breathed to feeling pangs of worry and sorrow at his pain? At what point did she change her deep-rooted feelings of hatred and repugnance towards him to care and concern _for_ him?

And now, he probably knew because her big fat mouth just could not keep quiet for one bloody moment!

Her face steadily grew higher shades of red and she was grateful that she still wore the mask. It protected her nose, lips and cheeks from growing numb from the cold and it hid her mortification from the sharp eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

After forty five minutes of walking (Hermione had taken a gold, and expensive-looking watch from the jewelry box that, assumedly, belonged to the wife of the house), bypassing a police station devoid of life, they arrived at a road that was larger than normal. In the middle was painted brick red with little white lines that dissected the painted section into squares. On a sign post just opposite where they stood were two green arrows, one pointing left of the road and one pointing right. The green left arrow read: WORKINGTON COCKERMOUTH A66 and the green right arrow read: (M6) KESWICK A66. Behind the sign was a large field, dotted here and there with sheep grazing and surprisingly alive.

"Workington, Cockermouth, A-6-6, M-6, Keswick…" Hermione read aloud. "Keswick…Keswick…" A blurry memory of a field trip her parents had taken her on came into sharp focus, "Keswick! I _know_ Keswick!" she exclaimed.

"Indeed, but how shall we get there?" replied Lucius in dry tones.

At the same moment, a jeep with a family of four zoomed by and Hermione's excitement grew, her embarrassment forgotten, "We are in a Muggle section of England, we can hitchhike."

"Hitch…hike?" Lucius repeated and Hermione had to mark the moment as the first she'd ever heard Lucius Malfoy sound uncertain.

"Hitchhike…it's a Muggle habit of begging strangers for a ride," she explained.

"I see."

She could hear his disapproval and could only guess at his thoughts. Notions along the lines of: Muggles and their disgraceful habits! But she could care less. This was their chance to escape and she was not going waste her opportunity because someone disapproved.

She knew that heading to Keswick was the wiser idea because it was a place she knew. She had no idea where Workington or Cockermouth was. Squinting, she made out a vehicle heading their way and prepared herself. When the car, a silver, shiny sedan, was near, Hermione struck a resolute pose and stuck her thumb out. The driver, a young woman in her mid twenties, gave Hermione and Lucius a horrified look then stepped heavily on the accelerator, speeding past them. Slightly angry, Hermione waved her fist at the woman's retreating vehicle.

"What an idiot!"

"I don't think I'd take kindly to two strangers wearing masks either, Miss Granger."

"Oh!" He was right. Of course anyone would be wary of masked strangers asking for a ride. In this day and age, all sorts of freakish and potentially dangerous people existed. Voldemort was a fine example. So she took off her mask, loathe as she was to do so, and helped Lucius with his own.

"Oooh, look! Here comes another one!" And she struck her pose again.

* * *

By the twentieth vehicle that passed them by without a second glance, Lucius had begun to grow tired of this uncivilized, Muggle method of acquiring transportation. However, the girl seemed to derive some fun out of the endeavour and he couldn't deny that he liked the way her eyes were dancing with delight…as if it were a game.

She struck different poses, some very comical, and each were met by the same response or lack thereof. She seemed to find it a challenge in which she had to conquer, thinking up new ways to her approach.

He was weary of standing and the pain in his ribs demanded he take a rest but he persisted in standing still while the girl did her best. But when he'd arrived to a point when he could no longer stand the ache, he saw the girl coming towards him with a purposeful gleam in her eye.

"Lucius," she said, her tongue curling deliciously around his name, "I want you to cover me." She grabbed the backpack and began to fiddle with the straps, lengthening them.

"How?"

She blushed heavily but squared her shoulders, "I'm going to take off my dress for a moment."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, "It is very cold. You will freeze."

"That doesn't matter," she said, frowning. "Just cover me please."

He silently positioned himself behind her, watching as she turned her back to him. In an instant, she whipped her head around and said bossily, "Turn around…I don't want you looking at me while I strip."

 _I want to look at you while you strip_ , thought Lucius but he dared not say so. Instead, he said, "I shall provide more protection if I face your back."

She glared at him, opened her mouth then shut it with an audible pop. She turned back around and began to slowly undress.

Lucius eyes were fixated on her body as she took of the cloak and let it fall to the floor. The first dress underneath followed the cloak, then the second was left to huddle at her hips. This time she wore a bra, a black lacy thing that dared Lucius to touch it, to slip it off her slim, milky shoulders, to kiss his way down where the strap had once lain.

He lifted his hand and ran one finger from the base of her neck, down the very center of her spinal cord, dragging it all the way back up. He watched her shiver and he wondered whether it was the cold or his touch that had elicited such a reaction. He bent his head forward, downward, his mind telling him to stop even as he settled his lips at the crook of her neck, tasting her skin.

"Lucius," she said breathily, "Please…we're out in the open…"

"Then you may not have minded had we privacy, then?" He asked huskily, emphasizing this by licking the spot where her pulse ticked, enjoying her low whimper that followed.

"Please…do stop, I…I need to prepare….and I am cold…"

At this he released her, silently satisfied with himself. He watched as she placed the backpack on her front, securing the straps over her shoulders. She eased the first dress over the bulging front of the backpack and finally realized what her intention was: she was trying to appear pregnant.

By the time she'd redressed herself and had secured the cloak around her person, Miss Granger looked very pregnant indeed. He gazed at her amusedly while she blushed a heavy crimson and shyly avoided his look as she explained to him her plan.

"Obviously, we'll appear as a m-m-married couple, stranded by the wayside," she stammered. "I'm…I'm…six months pregnant and we need to see a physician to prevent complications…"

"And how long have we been married for?" he teased.

"A year…"

"And I suppose our child, here, is the fruition of a passion-filled night—"

" _Mr._ _Malfoy_ , I would think they'd know how babies are made," she said hotly, her cheeks rosy red.

Smirking, "Mr. Malfoy? We can't have such formalities between a married couple can we, my dear _wife_?"

With Hermione's plan in motion, it didn't take them very long to sucker someone into giving them a ride. A kind, elderly couple, driving a dated hatchback, pulled to a stop before Hermione and Lucius and offered them a lift.

"Where to, dears?" questioned the woman and as Hermione opened her mouth to say "Keswick, please" Lucius interrupted and answered,

"My wife and I would be most appreciative if you'd carry us to Penrith Station."


	10. Chapter Ten

The forty minute journey to Penrith station was slow and seemingly interminable to Hermione. It was filled with many intrusive questions from the elderly couple and Hermione found herself with the burden of manufacturing false answers. She'd never been a very good liar but she was surprised with how convincing her tall tales were concerning her faux marriage to Lucius Malfoy and her phony pregnancy.

George and Carol Sweeney, the elderly folks aforementioned, were not Britain natives. They were Irish and had come to Britain, on their way to Lockerbie to visit their only son and his family. Carol had been quick to mention that her daughter-in-law, Angela Sweeney, was pregnant as well with her third child who was going to be named Tommy if it were a boy. Hermione tried her best to feign interest in the older woman's ramblings but silently prayed that their journey with the Sweeneys would end soon enough.

Eventually, Carol had fallen silent and Hermione was left to enjoy the crawl at which George was driving. Darkness had begun to set in and frost from the cold clouded the windows, preventing Hermione from observing her surroundings. She glanced briefly at Lucius and found him staring unseeingly into his own reflection created by the frost.

She desperately wanted to know why he'd told the Sweeneys to carry them to Penrith station instead of Keswick. She'd nearly asked him outright too but the look he'd given her had stilled her tongue. Besides, she'd wanted to show a united front to the Sweeneys. There was nothing more suspicious than stranded strangers each not knowing where they wanted to go. So she held her tongue; biding her time until they were deposited at their destination.

She glanced at Lucius again, trying to gauge how he felt presently. He'd shifted himself, leaning his head back with his eyes closed and Hermione vaguely wondered if he'd dozed off. A few strands of his hair lay haphazardly across his nose and lips and involuntarily, Hermione lifted her hand and smoothed it away. He opened his eyes half-mast, pinning her with his gaze and Hermione had a sense of déjà vu. She remembered the day they'd been forced to leave her hut and he'd been leaning his head against a tree and she'd been absorbed in admiring him that he'd caught her staring.

 _Whether in sickness or health, Lucius Malfoy still remains as handsome as ever_ , she thought.

He was still looking at her and suddenly shy, she blushed and began to remove her hand. He grabbed her wrist, staying it from moving further. Surprised, she returned her gaze to his, finding that he'd opened his eyes fully. She watched as he lifted her captured wrist to his lips and licked the spot where her pulse ticked. He followed this action by blowing softly where he'd licked her, and then he kissed her wrist.

It was Hermione's undoing. She could not resist the sudden desire that flooded her veins. She felt as though his mouth had not only made contact with her wrist but her entire body. A deep throb began to pulse low in her belly, the ache escalating when he licked and kissed her wrist once more, all the while gazing at her intently.

Her body began to yearn for him. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to cover the short space between them and claim his mouth with hers. She recalled the night he'd spanned her body with his hands and she wanted a repeat but more. She wanted his hands, she wanted his lips, and she wanted him…all of him, deep within her, bringing her to a point of ecstasy she'd yet to achieve.

Explicit images raced through Hermione's head and she began to inch closer. He tugged her forward by her wrist, his eyes set on her lips. Just as they were about to share a passionate kiss, the car jerked to a stop and Carol inclined her head towards them, smiling at them both as she said,

"Here we are, dears. Penrith station."

Blushing furiously, Hermione pulled away from Lucius' embrace and opened her side of the door. "Right. Thank you very much, Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney."

Carol's smile took on a mischievous look as Hermione and Lucius exited the vehicle. "Just to let you know, there's a small hotel a block away. Maybe you two should have a bit of a lie-in before you head off again."

Hermione blushed harder, if it were possible, "Maybe. Well, thanks again and take care!"

"Take care," hollered a waving Carol as George began to drive away. "Hope you have a healthy beautiful bouncing baby!"

Hermione waved back then, avoiding looking at Lucius, she turned towards the building before them. It was a large, sprawling, red-bricked building that bore resemblance to a church or an outdated police station. Windows ran along the entire elongated wall of the building, the edges rusty and panes dusty. Where there was paint, it had begun to fade and sections of the roof, gone black by the elements, were in need of repair. Parts of the walls had crude words spray-painted in garish colours on them and Hermione could even make out a smashed window or two.

The entire building had an air of abandonment and neglect and not because of its derelict exterior. Hermione found it suspicious that, for a train station, there was hardly a soul to be seen. A car park dotted with various types of vehicles stood before the building so why weren't there anyone milling about? She began to ponder the possibility that the Death Eater Plague had passed through the land of Penrith when her eyes alighted on a sheet of paper taped to the entrance doors. She began to walk forward when Lucius' voice stopped her.

"My dearest wife, it seems as though our fortune has only brought us this far."

She rounded on him, "I am not your wife."

"A divorce already?" he said in mock surprise. "Women these days are so fickle."

Hermione shook her head smilingly. Embarrassing as it was, in hindsight, their false marriage and playacting was funny. "I'm not fickle. I just refuse to stay in a fake and loveless marriage."

"Hmm?" he replied, then he pointed at the taped sheet of paper, "Well, Fate has entirely different ideas on this matter. We would have to continue our charade in the hopes of a favourable outcome at this hotel that bothersome woman suggested."

Hermione eased forward, her eyesight obviously not as sharp as Lucius', and read the note posted on the wooden front doors. It was typed and it read:

ATTENTION:

PENRITH STATION (PNR) WILL BE CLOSED ON SUNDAY 9TH JANUARY, 2000 AND MONDAY 10TH JANUARY, 2000 FOR BUILDING AND TRACK MAINTENANCE. WE WILL BE REOPENED AND IN SERVICE BY TUESDAY 11TH JANUARY, 2000. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE CAUSED.

There was a newspaper stand near the lone, red telephone booth that stood sentry left of the entrance doors. Hermione ran to it and grabbed up one of the remaining newspapers and was dismayed to read the date of the issue: Sunday 9th January, 2000.

Her prevailing thought was, _Damn, I missed New Years Day…_

* * *

Hadley's Hotel was on the corner of Cromwell Road and Ullswater Road and, indeed, a block away from Penrith station. It was a quaint, three-storey brick building with a warm, homey feel even from the entrance parlour. The foyer was painted in hues of mahogany; it was L-shaped, the shorter side of the L, forming a square. Within this square, a fireplace stood to the north of the wall, Christmas decorations still hanging above it. A few non-descript paintings hung on both eastern and western walls and potted plants graced each northern corner. There were three, mahogany-coloured leather sofas arranged around a glass coffee table, a few magazines on its surface, and a small library filled with books stood to the back of the eastern sofa. The entire foyer was carpeted in a rich, soft, auburn-coloured material and gold-coloured designs. Along the rectangular part of the foyer, Lucius and Hermione encountered a reception desk where a young woman was behind it, deep in the pages of a romance novel.

After a throat clearing did not work, Lucius rapped sharply on the wooden desk to garner the woman's attention. Her head whipped up in surprise, cheeks flushed and looking as though she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. He was slightly amused with this. There wasn't any wonder as to what particular scene of the book she'd been so engrossed in.

"We'd like a room, my _wife_ and I," he said, smirking at Hermione's glare. "Are there any vacancies? And what is the cost?"

She eyed them both, ogling Hermione's round belly as she closed her book. "Let me have a look." She turned to some square, white monstrosity and settled her fingers on a board of sorts. She tapped at the upraised keys on the board that had different letters on each key, occasionally placing her hand on yet another oval-shaped extension attached by a cord, moving her hand up and down and around with it. The square, white box gave off a faint glow and he could see different moving images as the girl tapped away at the board of keys.

"It's a computer," said Hermione in a tone ripe with amusement.

He lifted an eyebrow haughtily, refusing to admit he hadn't an idea what a 'computer' was. His pride could not allow it.

"It's Muggle magic," she continued, smiling at him. "Made by Muggles, for Muggles."

He was saved from responding when the girl said, "You're lucky this evening. We've only got one vacancy. How long do you plan on staying?"

"Two nights."

"Then it's forty five pounds per night, sir," she said. "We accept only cash or credit cards. No cheque or debit, please."

This he understood. As a wealthy man, Lucius had known it to be foolish not to familiarize himself with Muggle money and their terminologies. Even though he'd abhorred their kind, money was money and the Muggles had plenty of it. He delved into his coat pocket and came up with the wrinkled bills he'd stolen from the thieves, all amounting to three hundred pounds.

He paid the woman the required amount and was offered a room key. Declining her suggestion to hang their cloaks in the cloakroom, they took the stairs located at the right hand side of the foyer to the second floor. Arriving at their specified room's door, Lucius unlocked it and they both entered the room.

The room was small and held very little furniture: A desk with an accompanying chair. An armchair in the corner near the curtained windows, a chest of drawers on which sat yet another square, boxy thing that was black instead of white, a bedside table and a bed. A lone, single, king-sized bed. A deep silence followed.

The girl was standing still, eyeing the solitary bed that occupied the room. He watched her watching the bed, wondering to himself whether the idea of sharing it with her was appealing or revolting. He could hardly dredge up negative feelings towards feeling her soft, womanly body against his and decided he found the idea alluring after all. Very much so indeed.

His mind carried him back to an hour earlier, when he'd been unable to resist touching her body at the roadside. He thought of the moment during the car ride when he'd enjoyed the simple act of kissing her wrist and the way her brown orbs had darkened with desire. Lucius fought hard against any thought, no matter how small, that suggested he was interested in Hermione Granger in more than a carnal, physical way. But he felt as though he was slowly losing the battle.

That very morning, he'd convinced himself it was purely sexual. He'd disregarded any notion that a worthwhile relationship could be pursued with a Muggle-born. Yet, during the drive, he'd closed his eyes momentarily and the first thought that had come to him was of her. It seemed all of his thoughts were filled with her these days. He could hardly remember the time he'd last thought of Draco, his one and only son.

Lucius was forced to admit to himself, the very same day he'd convinced himself otherwise, that maybe he did value Hermione Granger in his life a little more than just a sexual interest. He was, however, loathe to admit this and would murder anyone who found out this tidbit.

But where did this leave him? Would he grow to _love_ her? This thought was so foreign that Lucius thought it best to leave it alone. He removed his cloak and hung it on the accommodating peg behind the door and moved to sit on the bed to take off his shoes. The girl awakened from her self-imposed trance and began to divest herself of her own clothing as well. At the last bit, her dress that covered the backpack, she glared at Lucius before marching off into the direction of the bathroom, locking the door for emphasis.

It became apparent that something was amiss when, after twenty minutes of secluding herself in the bathroom, he heard a shout of frustration. The bathroom door was suddenly flung open and out marched the girl, her face contorted in anger.

"Help me get this damn thing off!" she demanded.

Help a woman out of her clothes? No man could resist such a challenge and neither could Lucius. He was up on his feet and by her side in seconds, surveying not only the bunched material of the dress around the backpack and her midsection but her exposed top half, protected only by scraps of lace that constituted her bra.

However, it was not as easy as he'd imagined it to be. Upon grabbing the material of the dress and heaving upwards, he found that the cloth simply would not budge. He yanked downwards and met the same resistance. He tried to pull it away from her body but the dress had no elastic and only served to upset the pain in his shoulders.

Morosely, she said, "I guess I might just have to cut it."

But Lucius had seen a way and decided to employ it. "Release your arms from the straps, Miss Granger."

"Oh, it's Miss Granger now?" she replied.

"Do as I say," he commanded.

With a glare, she lifted her arms out of the straps of the backpack. "There."

"Hold still."

He grabbed the front of the bunched dress and pulled it as much as he could from her body then used his other hand to force the backpack downwards. Effortlessly, the backpack slid away from her body and as he released the dress, so did that too. She stood semi-naked in a lacy bra and matching knickers before him.

He drank in the sight of her, hardly able to tear his eyes away from her body. His eyes settled on her full, perky breasts that were barely concealed by the lace. They followed a path downward past the indentation of her waist and the widening of her hips to alight on the thin, sheer material that covered her sex. His hands itched to touch, to feel, to explore.

Instinctively, she covered herself with her hands, slowly backing away from him as if she could read his thoughts clearly. Lucius had a feeling she probably could as he'd yet to discourage her from the idea that he was sexually attracted to her.

"Come here," he said softly into the quiet.

"I will not," she replied just as softly.

"And why not?"

"I am afraid."

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No," she answered, even softer. "I am afraid of myself."

Their eyes met and Lucius could read her emotions plainly: hesitancy, regret, desire, affliction, guilt, want. He moved a step forward and unsurprisingly she moved a step back. Lucius was suddenly reminded that they played this game between themselves mentally and emotionally as well as physically. No matter their steps in a positive direction, they soon relapsed into their familiar ways of old prejudices.

"And why are you afraid of yourself?"

"Why aren't _you_ afraid of _yourself_?" she cried. "Why aren't you afraid of this…this _thing_ that's developed between us?"

"Why should I be afraid of attraction?" he replied. "It is a natural course in any human's life."

Aghast, she exclaimed, "Malfoy, we are enemies!"

He said nothing for a long while, he simply gazed at her. He was trying his best not to wonder at the sudden disappointment he felt at her words. He outright ignored the notion that his feelings was hurt. "Very well, Miss Granger. Although I no longer consider you my adversary and have attained a better judgment of you due to our close companionship, I realise that your assumptions of me may yet take time to change. If you tire of my advances, I will respect your wishes and desist from doing so hereafter should you still wish to accompany me on my journey.

In any case," he continued, "the day has taken its toll on my body and I long for some rest. I was aware of your discomfort earlier when you'd realised there was only one bed. Do you wish me to sleep on the floor?"

Mutely, she shook her head.

"I see," he nodded, turning away from her. "Well, do have a good night, Miss Granger."

* * *

After Lucius had retired to bed, Hermione had taken a shower then made her way downstairs to the library in the foyer. The clock on the wall near the empty receptionist desk said eight thirty and Hermione was surprised at how early it was still. She'd been overjoyed when she'd found 'Anna Karenina' by Leo Tolstoy, a book she'd longed to complete, and she'd delved into the book with gusto. However, fifteen minutes later, one thought began to overshadow the words on the pages: she'd hurt Lucius' feelings.

 _Could his feelings be hurt? His heart is made of stone for Merlin's sake!_ She scoffed.

But still, there was no denying the glimmer of disappointment she'd witnessed when she'd all but screamed that they were enemies. She'd felt even worse when he'd announced calmly that he did not feel that way about her as she obviously felt about him. She knew she didn't hate him and she knew she didn't consider him her enemy but she'd wanted an excuse to push him away.

Hermione was terrified of her burgeoning feelings for Lucius Malfoy. She despised the way he consumed her thoughts and she detested how quickly he could make her burn with desire for him with a simple look or touch. She was afraid of herself, of her longing to just let go and let the winds of attraction carry her wherever it wanted to.

However, pushing him away had felt worse. She couldn't believe she could come to a point to care how he felt but she had. She wanted to apologise but warred with herself. She tried her best to return her attention to her novel and after many futile attempts, she snapped it closed in frustration and marched back up to her room.

"Lucius?" she called quietly into the gloom. Feeling her way about the unfamiliar room, she manoeuvered her way to the bed. "Are you awake?"

"If I weren't," he said quietly, "I doubt I'd have been able to answer you."

Her eyes had adjusted and she could see him laying on his back, his good arm beneath his head as his eyes glittered in her direction. She smiled, wondering if he could see her too. She climbed onto the bed, kneeling where he lay and said shyly, "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You did not do or say anything wrong," he replied.

"I _did_ say something wrong," she persisted. "I-I don't believe we're enemies. We've managed to spend four weeks in each other's company without one killing the other. That counts for something doesn't it?"

"Hmm, an apologetic Miss Granger. There are many wonders for me to see yet."

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy," she laughed, playfully smacking him on his belly. She noticed his wince and mumbled another apology as she absentmindedly rubbed the spot she'd hit. His other hand came up and settled over hers and their eyes connected.

"Miss Granger," he said softly, the lilt of his voice was like silk on her skin, "if it means anything to you, I was sincere about what I'd said. We've had our…disagreements in the past but yet, I've come to hold you in higher esteem during our time spent together."

"Malfoy, are you just saying that to get into my knickers?"

"No," he answered then said in hopeful tones, "but has my confession facilitated the endeavour?"

"Maybe."

"Hmm."

"Malfoy, can I kiss you?"

He did not say anything for some time as he gave her a long, long look. She wondered why she'd asked him such an absurd question. If she'd wanted to kiss him, she could've simply leaned forward and did so. She also wondered when she'd suddenly gotten so brave. But then he replied quietly, "I see no reason why you needed to ask."

On her knees still, she leaned down and settled her mouth briefly on his before she began to kiss the corners of his lips, his cheeks and his throat where his pulse beat a steady tick. She returned to his mouth, enjoying the feel of his warm, soft lips against hers. She licked the seam of his lips and was rewarded when his mouth opened to deepen the kiss.

She purposefully kept the kiss chaste, waiting to see how long he'd hold before he tried to control the situation. It didn't take very long. With a low hum of frustration he pushed her onto her back, climbing on top of her, pressing her body into the bed with his.

Their kiss became heated and passionate, their tongues swirling and dancing. Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying it's silken feel as he plundered her mouth with his. She could feel his hardness against her belly and wanting more, she encircled his waist with her legs, bringing her sex flush against him. Moaning into his mouth, she gyrated her hips, a silent plea for satisfaction.

He ripped his mouth away from hers and gazed down at her. She mewled at the lost of contact. In husky tones, he asked, "What do you want, witch?"

"I-I want you…" she responded breathily.

"Are you sure?"

Was she sure? Would she regret her decision? Maybe she would but it was far too late to turn back now. The fire of desire burned hot in her belly and she knew of only one way to exterminate it. "I am," she whispered.

He asked no more questions. Lifting himself onto his knees, he hoisted her dress up and off her body. This time she'd discarded her bra, and she was left only in her knickers. He reached out to touch her breasts but she waylaid his hands by attacking the buttons of his shirt. When she'd removed his shirt, he moved to stand on the bedroom floor as she made quick work to divest him of his trousers.

Lucius Malfoy was a slender, broad shouldered man with toned and wiry muscles. His skin, pale and porcelain-like, his long blonde hair and handsome, aristocratic features, gave him an almost angelic impression. On his left bicep, Hermione could just about make out a tattoo and the thought of a tattoo on Lucius was incredibly sexy to Hermione. She had to admit, for a man in his forties, he really was in good shape.

She glimpsed downward, ogling him. He was of good length and sufficient girth, the skin smooth, the veins barely visible. Without thinking she lifted her hand and encircled him with her palm, enjoying the firmness and the way he groaned at her touch. She pumped her hand down once and his hips bucked reflexively.

A pearl of liquid formed at the head and she wiped it away with her thumb. She wanted to taste him. She began to lean her body forward when Lucius pushed her back onto the bed and said, "No, not today."

He attacked her mouth once more, parting her lips with his tongue. He kissed her hard, devouring her mouth with a possessiveness that made her body shiver. Gripping her hair, he forced her neck upwards as he released her mouth to suck hard at her neck. His hands skimmed her body and wherever he touched left her skin heated and yearning for more.

Dipping his head, he captured her left nipple in his mouth and began to suck it. He swirled his tongue slowly around the bud, using the tip of his tongue to lick and flick it while he pinched and diddled its counterpart between his fingers. Hermione moaned low, sifting her fingers through his hair, holding him close to her breasts as he encircled each with his hot wet mouth.

Abandoning her breasts to the cool air, he kissed a path down her belly and slipped her knickers off without a pause. Then he touched her, pressing his hand flat and insistent against her aroused sex. Hermione gasped in shock and pleasure when he suddenly slipped a finger inside her, then two, dragging them along her walls. Awash with new and wonderful sensations, Hermione closed her eyes and moaned out her pleasure as Lucius picked up the pace.

Hermione could feel something building, slowly growing within her. What Lucius was doing to her was just divine. His fingers moved persistently, sweetly inside her and she felt the tension of her nearing climax like a rubber-band stretched tight. She longed for the snap. She whimpered and moaned and when she felt as though she could not handle the onslaught of sensations any longer, she felt Lucius settle his mouth on her swollen flesh. He licked once, twice then sucked hard. She came violently, crying out as her walls clenched around his fingers still moving deep within her, her body shivering from release.

He lifted himself to kiss her and she returned his kiss eagerly, tasting herself on his tongue. Parting her legs, he positioned himself between them and slowly began to enter her. He stopped when he encountered the barrier that signified her virtue.

"It will hurt," he said quietly.

"I know," she whispered.

With one fluid motion of his hips, Lucius penetrated her fully. She cried out in surprise and pain. Tears leaked from the corners of her tightly closed eyes and Lucius smoothed them away with his thumb. When it seemed that her discomfort had ebbed, he began to move slowly, fighting to keep in control as her tight, warm walls urged him to go faster.

Eventually, her hips began to move of their own accord so he accelerated his pace. Merlin, she felt so good he wondered why he'd taken so long to have her. Her little moans and gasps were music to his ears as he drove himself harder, faster, deeper.

She'd imagined the feel of Lucius before but the reality was far superior. His movements sent exquisite slivers coursing through her veins. He filled her completely, rubbing against her walls so deliciously that she begun to feel the familiar build of tension. She lifted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. Moaning his name, she urged him to go harder.

She was so close. Her body began to shake, the waves of sensations getting stronger and stronger.

"Lucius…" she mewled.

"Yes, witch," he growled, "Say my name. _Say it_ as you come for me."

He reached between her legs and fingered her swollen bud. Hermione, breathless, teetered on the edge before she fell hard, climaxing with a scream of Lucius' name as her inner walls convulsed around him. He sped up his pace and Hermione knew he was near. With a long, low groan of satisfaction, he spent himself within her.

In the quiet that followed, only the sounds of their ragged breathing could be heard. They were sweaty and spent, their limbs still tangled with one another's. Eventually, their racing heartbeats had calmed and they lay looking at each other in the dark.

"What now?" she asked quietly.

He smirked at her, "Round two?"


	11. Chapter Eleven

Hermione was the first to awake the following morning. Quietly, she slipped from the bed and went to take a shower. As she ran the wash cloth along her skin, images of Lucius' hands smoothing along her body the night prior bombarded her. Her mind, a torturous thing, replayed every touch, every fondle, every insistent press of his lips and her cheeks bloomed with embarrassed heat.

She fought to suppress the images but there was one thing her mind disallowed her to ignore: last night she'd lost her virginity to Lucius Malfoy; last night she'd given her body to the man responsible for her friends and family's deaths.

Shame usurped embarrassment and she began to cry softly. She felt like the worst kind of traitor, probably even worse than Lucius himself who'd abandoned his master. She'd completely disregarded her principles and had succumbed to her body's desires. How could she have allowed Lucius Malfoy to touch her let alone take her only remaining virtue? Why hadn't she resisted him?

_Malfoy, can I kiss you?_

Merlin, how could she have resisted him when it was she who'd initiated the first contact? She was the one who'd asked for a kiss, not the other way around. Lucius Malfoy was a man. A man who'd been very open about his attraction for her and her request for a kiss was like an open invitation for more. There was nobody to blame but herself.

Angrily, she wiped away the tears, titling her face upward so that the spray of warm water could wash away the evidence of her crying. What was done was done. No use crying over spilt milk or lost virginities. She'd been just as attracted to Lucius as he to her. How they'd grown from hate to lust was beyond her. What she knew, though, was that inevitably they'd have arrived at this very destination so long as they were in company of each other.

Finished showering, she stepped out onto the bathmat and began drying herself. She refused to pity herself. A young woman losing her innocence was a common thing, and at least he'd been gentle. Admittedly, she had even enjoyed it. Even though he hadn't been her first choice, he certainly hadn't been her worst. His ministrations had lit her body ablaze with want and as he'd moved within her, she'd moaned his name in ecstasy with each stroke of his…

Blushing furiously, desire slowly reawakened at her train of thought. She determinedly blocked all thoughts of Lucius as she busily wrapped the towel around her body. Realising she'd forgotten to walk with a clean dress, she made her way from the bathroom to the bedroom and found Lucius sitting at the edge of the bed, massaging his injured shoulder.

He looked up at the sound of her feet, arresting her with his gaze. Hermione froze, unsure of what to say or do. She knew things might have been awkward but she hadn't expected this oppressing force of self-consciousness. Then his gaze left her face to scrutinize her towel and Hermione was suddenly highly aware of her nakedness beneath the material. She gripped the towel tighter to her body.

He stood and excitement and desire began coursing through her blood. He walked to where she stood rooted, towering over her. Settling his hands on her hips, he walked her backwards against the wall, next to the desk.

Lifting his left hand, he ran his index finger along her shoulder then rubbed the digit against his thumb. Slowly, easily, he released her fingers from her towel as though she hadn't been clenching the material and with a slight tug, the towel fluttered off of her body to the floor.

She raised her hands to cover herself but he stayed her hand. Bending his head, he kissed her and when she made a little gasp of surprise, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Leisurely, he explored her mouth, his tongue coaxing hers and she relented. She kissed him back, their tongues tangling, their teeth grazing each others lips.

He reached down between her legs and rubbed her sex. Finding her wet, he inserted a finger insider her then two and began to move them slowly in and out. Gripping his shoulder, Hermione spread her legs wider, moaning into his mouth when his thumb found her nub and rubbed it in time to his stroking fingers.

Releasing her from the kiss, he trailed his hot mouth downward to encircle an exposed breast. He ran his tongue along the underside then licked all the way up to suck and bite her nipple. Hermione threw her head back with a moan of pleasure, moving her hips involuntarily to the movement of his fingers.

All thoughts of guilt and pity were washed away as Lucius carried her nearer and nearer to the height of satisfaction. She felt her climax building, the pressure heavy in the bottom of her belly. She lifted her hips, urging him on and he did. He moved his fingers faster and more insistent, as he feasted on her other breast. He curled the tips of his fingers and began dragging them against her inner walls, rubbing so sweetly that Hermione's legs began to shake.

He lifted his head, leaning his face against hers, he whispered huskily into her ear, "Come for me," and he licked her earlobe. "Come for me."

It was an order she could not disobey. Moments later, she came hard on his fingers, crying out her release. Her entire body shook and her knuckles were white as she clenched his shoulders from the intensity of her climax. Her breathing uneven, she lifted her eyes to connect with Lucius' darkened gaze.

She was just about to ask him whether he wanted to go further—the phrasing of such a question too embarrassing to contemplate—when he turned away and headed into the bathroom. Blinking confusedly, she stood up straight and stared at the closed bathroom door. Didn't he want her? She knew he did for she'd seen the way he'd looked at her, so why did he leave? Did he want her to follow him?

At the sound of the shower's pipe being turned on, Hermione's question was answered. Bending, she retrieved the towel from the floor, folded it and placed it on the desk's surface. She then went to collect the backpack. Plopping it onto the bed, she began to rummage through for a clean pair of underwear when her eye caught the bed sheet.

Turning fully, she surveyed the dark brown spot on the bed. It was the evidence of what was and what would never be again, and at the sight of it, she turned away. Her emotions were conflicted. On one hand, guilt, sadness, regret and fear persisted, whilst on the other hand, she felt a sense of power, she felt attractive, worthwhile and even almost loved.

_Loved?_

No! Lucius Malfoy did not love her and he never will. Sexual attraction should never be misconstrued for something as powerful and meaningful as love! To think such a man could be capable of that emotion was preposterous. He had _killed_ for a living. He had actually upheld beliefs that people like her were worthless and served a better purpose being dead.

And who was to know if he didn't still believe so? Indeed, he could still very well hold on to his prejudices even in the face of his desire for her. What if he'd just wanted a taste of her body to get over his attraction? What if what they'd done last night hadn't meant as much to him as it did to her?

_Did last night mean something to me?_

Doing what she did best, she ignored the thought; outright _refused_ to even reflect on the matter. She returned to her search for clean knickers and upon finding them, she dressed herself. By the time she'd finished securing the last button to her dress—grumbling how she really missed jeans—Lucius returned to the bedroom, a towel barely clinging on to his waist.

She didn't stick around. Mumbling that she'd be waiting downstairs in the foyer, she left the room like demons were on her heels.

* * *

Lucius took his time to dress. His shoulder and ribs ached and he didn't want to upset them further by dressing hurriedly. He longed for relief from the pain but the girl had neglected to administer whatever methods she used and he had not bothered to learn them so he didn't know how to do it.

This fact bothered Lucius, as well as others he was reluctant to delve too deep into. To think he'd become so dependent, so trusting of this girl to leave his health completely up to her. For all he knew, she could hardly be doing anything to make him better, yet he allowed her to do as she pleased with his body.

He ruminated over the events of the past twenty four hours clinically. Yesterday, they'd arrived at Penrith. Last night he'd had sex with her. This morning, he'd almost had sex with her again. He reassured himself that nothing spectacular had occurred from yesterday to today and he needn't feel as though a shift of some sort had taken place.

 _The only change is that I am satisfied_ , he thought. He'd been in constant lust for the girl and last night had sated his desires. It didn't matter that he'd been unable to resist touching her this morning. There was nothing to be read in the pride he'd felt being her first lover, or the way she'd moaned his name during her fits of pleasure. Any man would feel a sense of satisfaction in that regard. He wasn't any different. No, hardly anything worth mulling over actually.

Dismissing any notions or little voices that disagreed, he secured his belt then made his way down to the foyer where he found her chattering away smilingly with a young man. Fleetingly, he thought to himself that the girl had never smiled at him as genuinely as she did now to this fellow and again, he dismissed any ludicrous idea that he was jealous.

Him? Jealous? How absurd! Besides, the young man had boring, forgettable features and he appeared somewhat dull. The girl was much too intelligent to waste her interest on the likes of him. In any case, to dissuade any ideas on the young man's part, he decided to make his presence known and, yet again, he brushed aside the very inkling that he was 'marking his territory'. He was simply playing his part as a fake husband to the best of his ability, nothing more.

"Hello, dearest," he greeted as he slid his hands possessively around her waist.

Startled, Hermione jumped slightly before she turned and gave him a shaky smile. "Hello…dear."

"And who do we have here?" he queried, turning his gaze on the young man.

The young man, who'd been enchanted by Hermione and had hoped to ask her out for lunch suddenly realised that he might have been safest never approaching Hermione at all. A silent, deadly power emanated from this blond haired and, by the way he was holding Hermione's waist so possessively, he was now aware of the man's position in her life.

"Oh, this is David," she said. "He was just telling me the most interesting news."

"Indeed?" replied Lucius, lifting an eyebrow. "And may I ask what this interesting news is?"

Tapping the paper in his hand, his face grim, David replied, "Apparently, a traveller passing through Braithwaite found hundreds of rotting corpses laying about the streets. It seems the entire town was murdered or suffered a collective mysterious death and the police are conducting investigations."

"Let me see that paper," Lucius demanded and David relinquished it immediately.

"You can keep it," David said. "Anyway, I'll be off. See you!"

Hermione waved and Lucius completely ignored him as he unfolded the paper and began reading the article. He yielded little more than what David had already said even though he knew a lot more had gone on behind the scenes than the paper would ever know. Folding the paper, he threw it in a receptacle that had revolving arrows on the front.

Turning, he found her staring at him nervously. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

Hugging herself, she replied, "No…yes…maybe."

Stepping closer to her, "Which is it then?"

He watched as a riot of emotions fluttered across her face before she looked away from him.

"Never mind," she said and he was relieved. He had a suspicion that she'd been about to launch into a discussion on what had happened between them and he hadn't wanted that. Her questions concerning his actions would only meddle with his own personal inquiries which he was steadfastly refusing to contemplate. Things were good just the way they were: he wanted her, she wanted him and whenever the need arose to act on that lust, they'd do so. No discussions, please, thank you very much.

He nodded, "Well then, if my memory serves me correctly, the hotel serves breakfast from seven to ten. If we hurry we may be able to have some…"

* * *

After breakfast, Hermione's mood lightened considerably. Soon, all embarrassing thoughts and awkward moments dissipated enough that Hermione was able to conduct a decent conversation with Lucius. Somehow or the other, they'd manage to get into a lengthy and spirited discussion on William Shakespeare's _Macbeth._ Predictably, she criticised Macbeth's actions and claimed, in very self-righteous tones, that his fate had been deserved. Lucius, on the other hand, disagreed with her high-and-mighty opinions and strove to make her understand the reasons behind Macbeth's deeds.

Thankfully, lunch was also served on the hotel's premises. Both Hermione and Lucius had loathed leaving the safety of their hiding place and although grilled cheese sandwiches weren't much, it was far better than risking the outdoors. Following lunch, Hermione had found a _Scrabble_ game and had challenged Lucius to a round. Although Lucius could hold his own in a game of _Scrabble_ , he was still no match for Hermione who was a voracious reader and who'd also had plenty of practice with her parents.

Unfortunately, the hotel did not serve dinner but they didn't mind. After surviving weeks on one to two meals a day, it wasn't uncommon for them to go to sleep hungry. Instead, they absorbed their minds and their stomachs in a short game of billiards, due to Lucius' shoulder. Hermione was surprised that he was familiar with the game—just as much as when she'd found out he knew how to play _Scrabble_ —and she was even more so when she realised he was very good at it. Too good, as a matter of fact, so she accused him of cheating with wandless magic and he pretended to be affronted.

Their camaraderie lasted right up until bedtime. As they made their way up to their room, she was suddenly very aware of his presence behind her. The image of the spot on the bed sheet haunted her and it wasn't long before all that they'd done, or that he'd done to her came flying back to memory.

She was terrified and excited. She didn't want him making any advances on her but deep, deep down, there was a hope that he did.

Moments later, she encountered a slight dilemma. What was she to wear to bed? She only had one two dresses, one she'd worn the day before and the one she wore now. They were both long and bulky, made for cold weather; she'd sweat like a boiled sausage if she wore either to bed. Last night, she hadn't this problem. After she and Lucius had…after _that,_ she'd fallen asleep naked without a care. She couldn't possibly do the same tonight, it'll only tempt him.

_Isn't that what you want?_

Certainly not! She was sleepy and hungry. All she wanted was some food and a bed but the latter was the only thing available at the moment. Resignedly, she thought to herself that only way she could not appear a tease or ridiculous in her attempts was to simply wear her bra and knickers and make sure the sheets covered her completely.

So, shyly excusing herself, she went into the bathroom and undressed. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. She contemplated showering again but decided to wait until the next morning. Eventually, after reassuring herself that sleeping in bed with Lucius was far less intimate than what had transpired the night prior, she stepped outside into the bedroom, clutching her dress to her body. Upon approaching the bed, she found Lucius had already changed and fallen asleep.

She sighed with relief and a little bit of regret.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The following day, Tuesday, Lucius and Hermione rose early and dressed in silence. They said nothing to each other; a tense and heavy awkwardness between them that hadn't been there the day prior. They avoided eye-contact at all cost, even going so far as to prepare themselves in turns, using the bathroom for privacy.

Once dressed, they went downstairs to check themselves out of the hotel and found the same receptionist who'd booked them in on Sunday night. Her head was bent as she read a newspaper, engrossed in whatever article she was reading. As he'd done on Sunday night, Lucius rapped smartly against her desk's surface to gain her attention and she lifted her head in surprise.

"Are you checking out?" she queried, sliding the paper to the side.

"We are," replied Lucius stiffly, handing over the hotel keys.

She accepted the keys with a nod then produced a book and pen, encouraging Lucius to sign his signature where he needed to. When he was finished, she instructed them to wait whilst she despatched a maid to make sure the room was in order. During the lull, the receptionist said conversationally,

"Did you hear about the mass murder in Braithwaite?"

"We have," replied Hermione as Lucius pursed his lips in silence. "Awful, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," nodded the receptionist, her face grave. "It's a good thing MI5 has gotten involved ever since that witness statement."

This gained Lucius' attention. He turned and surveyed the receptionist. "Witness statement?"

The receptionist nodded yet again, "Someone came forward and claimed they saw who did it."

"Was it an anonymous witness?" Hermione asked and the receptionist said that it was.

"And they've even described the killer," continued the receptionist. She retrieved her paper and began to read aloud, "'…the police are urging everyone to be on the lookout for a tall, slender, pale-skinned male with long blond hair, grey eyes and wearing a long, black coat. There is a possibility that he might be limping or physically impaired from previous injuries…'"

A thick, heavy silence followed that seemed to stifle any sound. Various background noises stilled suddenly and an intense awareness infiltrated the room. Hermione could not have wiped the gobsmacked look off of her face even if she'd tried. The receptionist slowly lifted her head, a mixture of dawning recognition and horror mounting her face. Lucius, his jaw tight, his eyes flinty, glared at the receptionist, daring her to say something.

"Is something the matter?" Lucius asked chillingly.

"I-it's…it's you…" the receptionist gasped out.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione laughed nervously. "It's _not my husband_. There are so many men that fit that description!" She laughed tinnily again.

The receptionist's gaze swung on Hermione, looking at her as though seeing her for the first time. Her gaze suddenly dropped to alight on Hermione's stomach, which was flat and pregnant-free.

"You're not pregnant," the receptionist said in a flat voice that attained an angry and suspicious flavour as she continued on. "You were pregnant Sunday night and now it's Tuesday morning and _you're not pregnant!_ " She lunged for the phone on her desk. "I'm calling the police, you murderers!"

At that moment, Hermione longed to perform Apparition. It was the magical way of the ground opening up and swallowing one whole. She felt incredibly stupid she'd forgotten the next half of her charade, especially at this point in time when the woman was already suspicious of Lucius. She watched in open-mouthed surprise as the receptionist attempted to punch the keypads on the telephone with shaking fingers and as Lucius reached over and smacked the receiver out of the receptionist's hands.

He leant over further, wrapping his fingers around the receptionist's neck. His eyes became squinty and his teeth bared in a snarl. His features were rendered an animalistic, sub-humane look that terrified Hermione enough to take a step back, and which petrified the receptionist in a wide-eyed state of inaction.

He squeezed her neck threateningly, his whisper cold in a promise that was certain to be met, "You do so and I swear you will never live to see the sunrise by the morrow."

He released her as though disgusted and the receptionist immediately rose and ran from the room. Turning, he advanced on Hermione and she skittered away from him, frightened by the live fury that was etched into his face. His grip hard and unshakeable, he clamped onto her arm and began dragging her to and through the hotel doors.

She fought him, terror for this man surging through her blood. Her mind told her that this was not the Lucius Malfoy she'd come to care for but the evil, black-hearted man who'd relished in her pain and was about to inflict more. She struggled hard but he only squeezed her arm as he marched forward.

"Let me go!" she demanded.

"Be quiet!" he hissed.

"Let me go!"

He rounded on her, forcing her backward and up against the hotel's side wall and she fought this action kicking and screaming. She was aware of smacking her hand against his injured shoulder, and hearing his hiss of pain, she perversely thought of hitting him there again in an effort to be freed. He pressed his body hard against hers and gripped her wrists in his hands at her sides.

She opened her mouth to scream again but gasped out in surprise when he bent his head and licked her neck. The action was sudden and so out-of-place that it rendered her speechless and motionless. He lifted his head and gazed at her so intensely, she couldn't look away.

"Behave," he commanded, squeezing her wrists for emphasis. "Behave. I will not hurt you."

And in that moment, she believed him. Her temporary moment of insanity dissipated and her body relaxed. Cheeks pink, she ducked her head to avoid his steady stare.

"Ok," she mumbled.

He loosened his grip on her wrists, raising one hand to tilt her face up to his.

"I am sorry that I've frightened you."

"You didn't have to choke her…"

"I did not choke her," he replied. "I merely threatened her to ensure us extra time for an uninhibited escape."

"But that wasn't very…nice," she finished lamely.

Rubbing his thumb against her chin, he stared at her a little while before he said in a gravelly tone that was foreign coming from him. "I'm not a nice man, Hermione. Surely you know this."

Indeed, she knew it but she did not care about that. What occupied her mind was the fact that he'd spoken her given name for the first time. In all of their four weeks together, and even before the War, she'd yet to hear him say her name. It was either Miss Granger or Mudblood. She had to admit, though, that she particularly liked the way he said it, especially in that rasping way that was so new to her ears. It sent a strange but pleasant sensation through her.

"Yes, I know you aren't a nice man, Lucius," she whispered.

He nodded then, speaking so low she nearly did not hear him, "But for you, I might try."

Surprised with his words, she opened her mouth to question their meaning when he stepped away from her.

"Come, let us hurry. We mustn't dawdle as the police may well be on their way," and he stalked away from Hermione, leaving her to scramble behind him as she pondered what he'd said.

* * *

Penrith station was a far different sight than it was the last time they'd seen it. Instead of the stillness bordering on eeriness, it was bustling with people and activity, everyone either hurrying to do their jobs or on their way to whatever destination. Once inside, Lucius' gaze darted about the small room, making sure there were no policemen loitering around.

As they made their way to the ticket booth, he felt the girl tugging the back of his cloak. He turned to give her an inquiring look.

"That reminds me, Lucius," she said. "Where exactly are we going?"

He considered being vague but thought it pointless. After all, she was going to accompany him, she'll find out anyway. "Igor Grogoch resides north of Carlisle, along a road just off of Teviothead. We must take the train to Carlisle and, from there, procure a ride to our final destination."

Hermione nodded. "We can take a taxi."

Lucius did not know what a 'taxi' was but thought to himself he'd learn this in time. He also did not know the workings of purchasing a train ticket so he handed over the money to a smirking Hermione so she could do the job. After the tickets were bought, they made their way through the ticket hall doors onto Platform 1. Following the ticket collector's instructions, they walked past the seating area, through another set of doors and up a pair of stairs. They ambled along the pathway then down another pair of stairs onto Platform 2.

Platforms 2 and 3 shared its seating area although Platforms 1 and 2 shared the train tracks. The waiting area was dusty and the walls were in a dire need of cleaning and repainting. A few people were already scattered about, awaiting their train northbound to Carlisle and beyond that was due to arrive in the next twenty minutes. Whatever meagre seating offered was already occupied so Lucius and Hermione stood.

During the wait, they were left to their own thoughts. Lucius, however, was furious. Things had taken a turn for the worst. Even though his situation hadn't been the best concerning his health and the recent uncomfortable development between the girl and him, it wasn't anything compare to how complicated life had suddenly become.

He had taken the Dark Lord and his own anonymity for granted. He conceded resentfully that the Dark Lord's course of action had been clever: wreak havoc then pin it on his wayward servant to force him out of hiding. Voldemort had essentially killed _three_ birds with one stone: create terror and pain, kill some of the Muggles whom he hated and utilise the very same Muggles to catch Lucius for him.

He'd underestimated the wizard. His attention had been so consumed by the girl's charms that he'd neglected to keep one step ahead of the Dark Lord. His face grim, he thought to himself how the girl really had complicated matters in many ways, some of which he refused to acknowledge.

Eventually the train came rambling in, its brakes squealing loudly as the conductor slowed it down. The locomotive was an ancient, grey, dirty machine that had been attacked by zealous youths with cans of spray-paint. Lucius surveyed it with scorn, aware that if the outside was so filthy, there was no telling as to the interior. A smattering of passengers exited the train then the waiting ones began to board it. The girl made her way forward, looking unconcerned and Lucius thought, _of course, her kind would certainly—_

He paused, surprised by his prejudicial thought concerning the girl. He couldn't remember the last time he'd mentioned or thought of anything derogatory pertaining to her. More so, he was surprised by the slight shame and guilt he felt at considering her beneath him. That annoying _shift_ , he thought. It was the shift that was complicating everything, making him feel the constant need to touch her or taste her or say absurd things like, 'but for you, I might try'.

_This is ridiculous. I needn't overanalyse. There is nothing going on between us more than the physical._

He nodded to himself. Maybe he just needed some rest. Life had become unbearably stressful. His wife had been murdered, his son was held captive and he was on the run. When everything had returned to how it was supposed to be, with his son and himself alive, well and living in their Manor, then he'd see he'd been bothered over nothing. By then, the girl would be out of his sight and out of his mind. She wouldn't stick around. Providing things went well, the Dark Lord would be dead so she'd be free and on her way to reunite with whatever living family she had.

_Yes, she'd be gone and good riddance too._

A tiny voice that protested he sounded unconvinced was squashed so quickly and so hard, it was as though it had never spoken up at all.

"Lucius, either you get on or get left behind," the girl called, already in the doorway of the train. A small smile played about her lips, her brown eyes warm on him. She held the backpack slung over her left shoulder and was using her right hand to beckon him on to the train. Somehow, she'd managed to wrestle her mass of hair into a low ponytail, leaving her face bare. She really was a beautiful young woman. How had he never seen this before?

He stepped onto the train, still watching her closely, imprinting her face into his memory. The train doors closed, an announcement was made that the next stop was Carlisle station. The train began to move and still he watched her.

Yes, she'd be gone…and good riddance too.

* * *

Hermione was aware of a few eyes on both Lucius and herself. At first she'd refrained from gazing around but soon it got unbearable. Looking up sharply, she found at least three pairs of eyes squinting and studying Lucius with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. A sinking feeling developed low in her belly and she realised that these people must have read the article as well.

She whispered her revelation to Lucius who made known that he was aware that they were being watched. They had a low discussion on what they might do should a courageous individual decided to apprehend them, and on Voldemort's cleverness implicating Lucius in the mass murder in Braithwaite, and on Hermione's forgetfulness concerning her faux pregnancy.

Eventually, when the stares persisted, Hermione suggested a move to a different car and they both did so. Not five minutes later, one of the three that was staring, a tall, black-haired man looking to be in his mid thirties, entered the same car they'd moved to. He sat, produced a newspaper—the very same one the receptionist had been reading—and pretended to read, although Hermione caught one of his surreptitious glances.

The sinking feeling in her stomach transformed into a tight ball of dread. He was a police officer or possibly an MI5 officer. Whatever he was, she was sure he was some form of figure of authority. He had the same tough, uncompromising, suspicious look the Wizarding Aurors had. And they were in trouble, for it was obvious he was not about to let them get away.

She turned to relay this to Lucius but found he was staring at the man, possibly coming to the same conclusions as well. They said nothing during the remainder of the ride and soon enough, the announcement was made that they were arriving at Carlisle station. As the passengers stood, they did so as well. The man closed his paper, rose to his feet and began to openly watch them.

"What are we going to do?" murmured Hermione.

Lucius did not respond. The train finally came to a stop and the majority of the passengers began to exit, Lucius and Hermione amongst them. Carlisle station was larger than Penrith station. It was filled with twice times the amount of people hustling to get where they wanted to go.

"This is good," said Lucius quietly. "Let us blend with the people so we do not get caught."

Hermione wanted to point out to Lucius that they would be unable to blend well as they wore cloaks amidst people who were wearing winter coats and jeans. Not only that, Lucius' tall frame and blond hair was the easiest give away but she kept silent. He held her wrist and began to move forward when suddenly she felt her other wrist being held onto as well. She stopped walking, turned and found the same man holding her forearm and giving her a hard, suspicious look.

"I need to speak to you both," he said.

Lucius looked around and glared at him. "And you are?"

The man produced a police badge, flashing it in their faces for a millisecond before he shoved it back into his breast pocket. "I am Officer Mike Burton and I've a few questions for you."

"We are in a hurry," Lucius answered swiftly. "My wife and I are…expected elsewhere."

The officer looked unconvinced. "This won't take long. Now if you'll just follow me…"

"No!" Hermione said, surprising even herself with the harshness in which she said it. "I mean, no…we really can't delay. We're sorry."

The officer's face took on a set look. "I insist you accompany me to the police station. It's imperative we have a bit of a talk. So come along...or I'll _make_ you."

"Of course you can't make us," Hermione replied. "We've done nothing wrong so you can't arrest us."

"Indeed," Lucius said, sneering at the officer. "Now unhand my wife so we can be on our way."

There was a moment of silence in which the officer looked as though he'd do anything but release them. Before, a few people had begun to watch this scene unfold with avid interest and now, they held their collective breath. Then with a glare at the two of them, Officer Burton released Hermione's hand with a snarling threat that he'd find something to get them on.

Hermione didn't have time to sigh with relief as Lucius had resumed the walk through the station. Once outside, Hermione approached a waiting taxi and inquired whether he'd take them as far as Teviothead and the cost of the trip. The taxi driver had been torn between the unkempt look of Lucius and Hermione and the amount of money to be had in such a long trip before greed had won. He agreed to carry them, stating that the trip would cost fifty-seven pounds with an additional ten pounds because of the hour long journey.

"Paid upfront, mind," demanded the taxi driver. Hermione was about to protest such an expense when she saw Officer Burton heading towards a parked car alongside the sidewalk, his gaze trained on them.

"Here, here," she said hurriedly at the taxi driver, stuffing his hands with the required bills. "And please go fast. You mustn't make that awful man follow us." Heeding her words, the taxi driver sped off quickly, jostling Lucius and Hermione about in the backseat of the car.

It was still morning, so the day was clear and bright. The taxi's windows were not tinted so this awarded Hermione the chance to make sure the police officer was not following them. Craning her neck backwards, she was dismayed to find the man speeding behind them in a vehicle that hadn't a licence plate.

"What a pest," said Lucius, turning as well to look. "Times like these I long for my wand."

Hermione silently agreed. Had they a wand, a lot of things would've been much easier to accomplish. She smiled to herself at the thought of a well aimed spell that would puncture Officer Burton's tires, disallowing him to follow them further. Glancing in Lucius' direction, she found him glaring heavily. Poor Officer Burton. If Lucius had had a wand, she doubted Lucius would've only punctured the man's tires…

The ride to Teviothead, which would've taken an hour in a cruise, was accomplished in thirty-eight minutes due to the taxi driver's breakneck speed. Under Lucius' instructions, the driver went off to the left of the main road, slowing to carry the car along the small roads. At a junction, they exited the car and began to walk the rest of the way.

"He's following us still," Hermione said as she looked back and found Officer Burton exiting his car and began following them on foot.

"Do not worry," Lucius replied. "There is a Disillusionment charm and a Muggle-repellent charm on Grogoch's land. He will be gone in a moment."

A few minutes into their walk, Hermione was doubly aware of the moment when they'd entered Igor Grogoch's land. A wave of magic spread through her body as she passed through and she turned and watched as Officer Burton suddenly turned around, an expression of wonderment and confusion about his face, and began heading back in the direction of his vehicle. Finally, feeling as though all was well, she turned around again and immediately uttered a startled yip, jumping backwards when she caught sight of a squat, ugly goblin right in front of her.

He bared his teeth evilly at her before turning to look at Lucius.

"Mr. Malfoy, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Lucius repressed his initial reaction to sneer at the goblin. If there was one species he had despised above the Muggle-borns, it would be the goblin race. He did not appreciate their greedy, self-serving behaviour and their open hate and disregard for wizards and witches. And even though their attitude and tendencies to discriminate outside of their race bore a great resemblance to the Pureblood ideals, he rather preferred to ignore the similarity. Besides, to compare himself with goblins was ridiculous. They were ugly and sometimes terrible to behold, and he most certainly wasn't.

But still, it would be in his best interest if he appeared cordial. He extended his hand and fought the urge to yank it away when the goblin grasped and shook it.

"Igor, the pleasure is all mine," Lucius replied smoothly.

Igor Grogoch, in actuality, was half-goblin. His grandfather had been a human wizard who'd managed to fall in love with a goblin. He was a dumpy man measuring, at most, three feet. Despite his goblin ancestry, his face resembled that of an old human man, slightly pink and pudgy. His ears were long and pointy and he had a riot of white hair about his head, his eyebrows, above his upper lip and beneath his chin. He was very much like the plumper, shorter, uglier, goblin version of Dumbledore.

Igor sneered, "Mr. Malfoy, do not insult my intelligence. You know as well as I do that you do not derive any pleasure from being in my presence. Now what do you want?"

"Straightforward as ever," replied Lucius dryly. At the same moment, a loud grumbling sound was heard. Both males turned their heads in the direction of the noise and found a blushing Hermione rubbing her stomach.

Igor scrutinised Hermione then recognition dawned. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the infamous Hermione Granger." Then he gazed at Lucius in surprise. "And in company with Lucius Malfoy! Very, very interesting. Come. I will extend a rare moment of hospitality and offer you some tea."

* * *

Igor Grogoch resided in a small one bedroom house with a wraparound porch. Inside, the kitchen and living room was combined with the lone bedroom just beyond a narrow hallway. There were the bare essentials of a sofa, a small dining table and one chair. Against the island in the kitchen leaned a stool and against the doors of the bottom cupboards leant another stool. It was on that that Igor Grogoch climbed on to prepare their tea.

After the scream of the kettle had died away, he presented a cup of peppermint tea to them both along with a plate of baked goods. Hermione surveyed the slightly grey things that, even from just looking, promised broken teeth on the first bite. She picked on up, hoping to try still due to hunger, and was met with a hard, uncompromising ball of dough in her palm. She was suddenly strongly reminded of Hagrid's dreadful 'rock cakes' that he'd loved to bake and offer to her and the boys. She remembered how the three of them poked fun at the cakes and in that moment, she longed to return to those times when life was innocent and worry-free.

She was brought out of her musings when she heard Lucius recounting briefly to Igor of how they'd met. Igor looked very amused, muttering "Interesting," now and again.

"And now you are here before me," Igor said. "Tell me why, Mr. Malfoy, for I know this is not a social call."

Hermione stilled, keen to hear every word that was uttered next. Her questions concerning Lucius' mission were going to be answered right in this moment and she didn't want to miss a single word.

"Igor, do you still practice the creation of Portkeys?" asked Lucius quietly.

Igor's black eyes shone with interest as he nodded yes. "However, it has become harder ever since my dismissal by the Dark Lord from the Department of Magical Cooperation. I only create them for absolutely necessary purposes now."

"Good," Lucius gave a sharp nod. "My purpose is, indeed, absolutely necessary. I will need you to create one for me."

"Mr. Malfoy," replied Igor, "the creation of Portkeys is not as easy anymore. From the moment of your escape, the Dark Lord as placed strict tracers that will alert him immediately. Thankfully, I am half-goblin and can use my goblin magic to override the trace. However, the slightest slip and you will be forced into a reunion with your comrades and your master.

As such, my Portkeys are very expensive and if I'm not mistaken, your former wealth has diminished entirely."

Lucius smiled slyly. "Igor, have you so forgotten _that_ particular incident five years ago?"

Igor sneered in return. "Have you forgotten as well? Although I am still grateful, my debt has been paid, Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione was curious as to what 'debt' Igor Grogoch had paid off. Had Lucius Malfoy aided the half-goblin in some way? And what had Igor Grogoch done in repayment? She watched as the two stared each other down: Igor standing on his stool and Malfoy glaring down. Then, with a long suffering sigh and a minute roll of his eyes, Lucius replied,

"I was taught by my father very early on in life to never put all my eggs in one basket." Then, quietly, "I will be able to pay you."

The fat, white hairy caterpillars of Igor's eyebrows rose but it was Hermione who spoke up for the first time. She was astonished beyond words but fought to find her voice.

"You can? How?"

Lucius spared Hermione a moment's glance but he turned and answered Hermione's question to Igor.

"I have a hidden vault in London. The savings there is not as impressive as my former Wizarding account but it is sufficient for a Muggle to live happily for the rest of his life."

This revelation shocked Hermione to the core. She did not know why or for what reason but she felt betrayed. If Lucius Malfoy had still been wealthy, why had he claimed he hadn't any money at the time he'd told her about their life debt? Why had he stuck with her caring for him all this time when he could've simply gone to London and paid a good physician to see to him? But most importantly, why had he never mentioned this at all?

_Did it matter?_

Of course it did! It mattered a lot. It meant that a whole month of trouble could have been evaded if, at the moment of his awakening from his delirium, he'd just Apparated onwards to London. It meant that she'd have not suffered his infuriating company and would've been alone with peace of mind. It meant that she'd not have had to worry about his health when all she needed was to worry about her own.

_It meant that you would've been lonely…_

No! No…no…yes. She couldn't deny that the past year of living alone and in fear had been her most terrible. She'd be the worst liar to not admit that Lucius' companionship had saved her from her deteriorating sanity and that nursing him back to health had provided her with a purpose for her to live for. Indeed, it would've meant she'd have been lonely but at least loneliness was far better than shame; the shame of sleeping with her enemy.

But was he her enemy? She wasn't sure anymore. The lines of their relationship had blurred so badly that it was hard to see where they lay. Did she hate him anymore? Admittedly, no, she did not hate Lucius Malfoy anymore. She'd spent every minute of every hour of every day of the past four weeks with him and had learnt a lot more about him than she knew he'd wanted. She hated the things he'd done, she hated his past allegiance to the maniac that had destroyed everything dear to her but she did not hate him.

Maybe she liked him? After all, beyond his inclination towards cruelty when he wanted things going his way, he was generally pleasant company. He was intelligent with a sharp sense of humour that made her laugh even if she fought it. They shared similar interests in literature, music and art, and even the ones she didn't share with him, she appreciated. From their discussions on the subjects, she learnt he was intuitive and had good taste and from their arguments, she learnt he was judgmental and dismissive on the ones he did not like.

He had good manners, he wasn't disrespectful—a Pureblood thing, probably. Despite their past, she'd yet to hear Lucius Malfoy call her anything offensive, but that didn't mean he didn't think it. He was also a charmer and, combined with his handsomeness, she often failed to quell the lurch of desire that occurred low in her belly whenever he pinned her with his intense sky-grey—

"Miss Granger, would you rather wait here or accompany us to Igor's study?" Lucius said, those very same grey eyes she'd been enthusing over gazed at her steadily.

"Why?" she asked dumbly for she'd neglected to listen further on the conversation.

"Miss Granger," replied Lucius patiently, "Igor has agreed to create the Portkey. He works in the study. We must go to the study. Do you understand?"

She glared at him. "You needn't speak as though I'm a child, Lu—Mr. Malfoy." She stood, ignoring Igor's curious lift of his eyebrows at her slip of the tongue. The half-goblin was too smart for her liking. It was more than obvious that he suspected more between Lucius and her. "I will come with you both to the study."

Grogoch's study was actually the furthest part of his living room. It held a small desk and chair she'd not seen on entering the house and from the desk, Grogoch retrieved a wand.

Hermione and Lucius' eyes immediately honed onto the slim piece of wood in Grogoch's hand. Simultaneously, their eyes developed a hungry, wanting look that did not escape Grogoch's keen eye. With a warning swish of his wand, he threatened them not to do anything funny for it would be foolish as he needed the wand to create the Portkey.

Hermione wanted to ask Lucius why he hadn't told her about his savings in London but felt out-of-place just thinking to ask him. Lucius' money was Lucius' money. He wasn't obligated to tell how much he had and where he had it. She wasn't his wife. Well…she wasn't his _real_ wife; they were just playacting to disarm suspicion. Also, the moment she opened her mouth and demand an answer, Grogoch would look at them and immediately know that something really was going on between them. After all, Hermione Granger asking Lucius Malfoy why he didn't tell her he had other money reeked of intimacy, didn't it?

Lifting the wand, Grogoch summoned something from his kitchen. When it arrived, hissing past her head, the thing revealed itself to be a twin handle mug, looking similar to a baby's juice bottle.

"Mr. Malfoy, where is your intended destination. I hope it is still under the Confederation as the Dark Lord has been systematically cutting ties all over the world."

"It is in the Caribbean," answered Lucius. "The country's name is St. Vincent and the Grenadines."

"Ah, you and Miss Granger off to enjoy the sun," hummed Grogoch then he smiled slyly, "how romantic."

"Hardly," replied Lucius with a smirk. "I shall take her to Paris when the time arises to be romantic but for now this is a business trip."

Hermione didn't know what to think about Lucius' comment. She felt her cheeks blooming with heat from self-consciousness when Igor gazed at her triumphantly. Mystery solved, his look said.

"I think I can call myself a wise man now when I've seen such wonders, when two fierce enemies have turned quite the opposite. An amazing feat," was Grogoch's final response before he turned and begun transforming the twin-handled cup into a Portkey.

Some minutes later, after a tense moment where Igor whispered incantations and made various wand movements, the Portkey was created. At Lucius' instructions he'd made a timed activation Portkey wherein after its first use, Lucius and Hermione had only twenty-four hours to use it again to return them to Britain. If they failed to utilise the Portkey within that time, it would deactivate and they would both have to acquire some other way of returning home.

Very interested in the entire concept, Hermione began launching questions at Igor as to his method of creation, the incantations he'd used and the different types of Portkeys available to his creation. He answered her questions patiently enough until Lucius announced in impatient tones that he'd rather be on his way. A little reluctantly—for she never passed up an opportunity to learn new things—she grabbed a cup handle whilst Lucius held the other, the cup suspended between them.

"Remember, Mr. Malfoy, if you are not able to acquire a wand, then this Portkey will be useless regardless if you're within the time limit," warned Igor.

Lucius nodded. "I will be able to."

Igor tapped the cup with his wand and it immediately glowed bright amber. He inclined his head to the two of them, encouraging them to go ahead.

"Portus!" They said simultaneously and with the feeling of a hook buried in their navels, they Portkeyed away.

* * *

Lucius landed on his feet, the sudden connection jarring every bone in his body, especially the ones that were still healing. Beside him, the girl landed as well but not as successfully. She staggered forward drunkenly and if he hadn't caught her arm to steady her, she would have overturned on her face.

"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling her hand away.

Their journey had been successful. He was inwardly pleased with Igor's work. That goblin really was a smart one, Lucius conceded. Igor had remembered the previous work he'd done for him at that time when he'd still been in the Dark Lord's service. So instead of directing the Portkey to land them in the island's main city, he'd severed their journey by forty-five minutes and had carried them directly to the desired destination: La Soufrière Trail.

La Soufrière was St. Vincent and the Grenadines' active volcano. It was the nestled deep into the mountainous terrain of the island. If one wanted to see the volcano, one had to walk a specific forest trail that took three hours in order to see it. It was even possible to look inside the crater if one was daring enough.

Igor Grogoch's Portkey had transported them to the beginning of the trail. However, because Britain was many hours ahead—five hours to be exact—the entire place was still dark. The copious amount of trees within the forest seemed even thicker than normal in the dim, their branches and tall trunks creating shadowy, grotesque monsters.

The girl was looking around in awe, walking around uncertainly. He remembered that the trail had many deep crevices a person could get stuck in and ran along a steep cliff that a person could fall off of, so he warned her to be careful.

She turned and walked back to where he stood. "Why are we here, Lucius? Why did you tell Grogoch to send us here? Why didn't you go to London instead? Why didn't you tell me—" and she broke off, looking uncomfortable.

Unable to resist touching her, he settled his palm lightly on the top of her head, sinking his fingers into her soft hair. "I've told you I'm on a mission to murder the Dark Lord, haven't I?"

"Yes," she said quietly, looking up at him. "But why are we here? How can you kill him if you're—"

"Do you remember what you, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were doing a year before the War?"

Hermione frowned. "We were doing so many things, Lucius. Honestly, to remember such a…oh my…" she looked up at him in surprise. "We were hunting down Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

"Indeed, you were. And he felt it," replied Lucius. "He was aware of what you were doing and he confided within me."

"Has he hidden a Horcrux here?" asked Hermione excitedly. "I'm not sure if we'd gotten all."

Lucius nodded. "His last one in fact. Before he had confided in me, he had commissioned me to hide it somewhere far and safe and at the time I had not known exactly what its purpose was."

Hermione face shone with glee and Lucius laughed within himself. To think Hermione Granger, Queen of Justice and Fair Play had a sweet spot for murder and revenge.

"But now I am sure of it," he continued. "It is the only thing I've witnessed him caring for. It is his only prized possession. And I know where it is for I was the one who hid it."

"What is it? What is his last Horcrux?" she whispered in almost reverential tones.

"Nagini," Lucius replied.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

As the temperature was considerable degrees warmer, and the sun had yet to rise, the duo decided to remove their heavy cloaks and settle down until morning light was available. A light and pleasantly cool breeze rustled the forest trees and made the loose leaves dance and swirl. It fluttered along Hermione's skin, tickling her and raising small goosebumps on her flesh. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the sharp, fresh scent of the forest and its clean, smog-free air.

She'd spread the cloaks on the forest floor and it was on these that they sat to prevent their clothes from being dirtied. Lucius had his legs bent, his forearms placed on his knees languidly, and he was staring unseeingly at the ground between his legs. She silently admired his handsome profile, feeling shy and embarrassed that she was doing so and a little afraid that she'd be caught staring…for the third time.

Sometimes, of late, just gazing at Lucius Malfoy did funny things to her. Pleasantly funny things. It never ceased to amaze her how she'd grown from a heartburn of rage to the pleasurable clench of desire in her gut whenever she'd laid eyes on him. And it wasn't only desire. Occasionally (more often than not), when looking at him, her heart felt warmer, somehow; it felt as though all her troubles were far away and all that mattered in that moment was him.

And in that specific moment during her speculations, the question she'd been asking herself earlier that day in Grogoch's house was answered. No, she didn't just like Lucius Malfoy, she…she…

_Merlin, no…it can't be. That's…that's impossible!_

What an absurd, preposterous, outrageous, absolutely _mad_ idea. Her inner thesaurus could not even begin to conjure enough words to describe how crazy that notion was. They had only been in each other's company for four weeks. Granted, every hour had been spent together but still, it was only four weeks! The time limit was far too short. People falling in love in one month only existed in those disgusting, brain-melting, plot-less romance novels of which the likes of Lavender Brown enjoyed!

No, this did not bode well for Hermione and her realist ideologies. She believed in love, yes, but she disbelieved that such a strong emotion could manifest itself in such a short time. Especially for Lucius Malfoy, a man whom, only a year ago, had wanted her dead.

_But things have changed, haven't they? He does not hate me anymore and neither do I him. However, does that mean that I…that I have those kinds of feelings for him? Merlin, help me, I have lost my mind if I do, for surely he does not feel the same…_

"Miss Granger, is something the matter?" Lucius' words invaded her thoughts.

She blinked rapidly, trying to refocus her mind to the present.

"No," she answered. "Why do you ask?"

"You appeared as though in pain," he replied. "Are you?"

 _Indeed, I am. I'm in pain and confusion because of you_. "Of course not," she smiled.

He nodded. "Good. We have a long journey ahead of us and we've only limited time to complete it. Any hindrances must be eliminated."

"And here I thought you were solely concerned about my well-being," she quipped.

He gazed at her so intensely that it took all her might not to squirm. She felt as though he were on the verge of reading her mind, and terrified that he might be an accomplished Legilimens, she mentally placed blocks around any thoughts that concerned 'love'. She was just digesting this notion; she didn't need him discovering it too.

"How far do we need to go to locate Nagini?" she asked in hopes of dissuading him from staring at her.

He looked away from her to stare up at the lightening sky and she followed his gaze. The wide expanse of blue-blackness was being bleached into intermingling hues of blue-grey, pink and orange. Amidst the branches of the trees, Hermione glimpsed little pieces of yellow brightness as the sun began its glittering, golden ascent.

She was a little surprised at how quickly dawn had arrived. One moment the entire area had been gloomy and she'd only been able to see her hands. Now, the sky lent its light, forcing the darkness back to its temporary hiding place. Lucius stood and she did the same. She was aware that Lucius had not answered her question but she didn't mind. He'd answer her in time. If need be, she'd press him on it anyway.

She retrieved the cloaks from the floor, folded them as small as she could and fought to stuff them in the backpack. Albeit she'd won the fight, the backpack had made its final stand of defiance by refusing to close its zip all the way. Disregarding its heaviness, she hoisted it over her shoulders and announced that she was ready to go.

* * *

"Lucius, how far do we have to go?" moaned the girl after an hour of trekking.

"The entire trip by foot totals three hours," he answered with a smirk.

"Are…are you _serious?_ " she asked in flabbergasted tones. "Three hours? And you hadn't the decency to let me know this before I lugged this awful thing with me?"

She dropped the bag she carried unceremoniously to the floor, her eyes flashing angry sparks his way. She wiped her sweaty forehead with her right forearm then pinched the front of her high-necked dress between her index finger and thumb finger to formulate some cool air. Lifting her left hand, she batted at the thick, curly mass of hair bunched at her neck, even though it did little to alleviate her discomfort.

"You dreadful man," she continued with a heavy glare.

Lucius smiled. For some reason, he enjoyed Angry Hermione immensely, and he particularly liked being the cause of it. He liked the way her tongue was uninhibited and she said anything that came to her mind in that moment. Well, come to think of it, she generally spoke her mind whenever possible. No, what he enjoyed most was her demeanour. The way her eyes flashed, the way her cheeks grew pink, and the way her entire body exuded an electricity of sorts. Yes…an electrical charge that reached him and sparked him and lit something alive within him.

She frowned. "Maybe I should let you carry it, regardless of your hurt shoulder. After all, if you don't care about me, I shouldn't care about you either."

_Of course, I care about you. Maybe more than I should, as a matter of fact._

It was on the very tip of his tongue to say it, but as he'd done an hour earlier when she'd made the little quip, he kept silent. He did not want to speak such a thing aloud. Within him, what he felt for her was awkward and unwanted. He was already running on a heavy supply of denial and avoidance, and voicing these things would cement them and make them real. He certainly did not want that.

"Merlin, this place is so damn hot!" she announced in frustration.

As he did so well, he sent all uncomfortable thoughts away. "If it is any consolation, and if my memory serves me correctly, there is a spring just beyond this rise. Maybe a brief stop is in order."

"Is it really? How wonderful." she replied coldly before she grabbed up the bag again with a huff and hurried off in the direction he pointed.

He followed and watched in amusement as she threw the bag, yet again, onto the floor, and as she giggled with glee at the sight of spring. She hiked up the skirts of her dress, kicked off her worn shoes and proceeded to wade through the steadily moving water, sighing aloud with satisfaction. Grasping the bunch of material in one hand, she dipped her free hand into the water then raised it to splash her face.

"Marvelous!" she cried.

He removed his shoes, as well, and rolled each leg of his trousers to his knees and each of his shirtsleeves to his elbows. When this was finished, he surveyed himself and thought how he looked like such a commoner but, surprisingly, it did not disturb him. He remembered the days when he wouldn't even _dare_ to appear disheveled or disorderly in any way. Those were the days when all that had mattered was a façade of perfection. To present himself to those whom he thought important enough to impress.

But all of that didn't matter now. He'd severed his allegiance to those ties the moment the Dark Lord had severed his wife from the living. He had spent weeks constantly unkempt, and in the presence of a woman who was unconcerned whether he wore velvet robes or whether every strand of his hair was in perfect place or even whether he was wealthy or not. No, she did not care about such superficial things.

That was why he—

Splat!

He reeled backwards, the sudden drenching of his face and his shirt surprising him immensely. Wiping the water from his face and his eyes, he raised his head at the sound of the girl's laughter. She had her head thrown back as she laughed and as she pointed at her devious handiwork.

_So, she likes to play games does she?_

He smirked. "That was very unwise, Miss Granger. I find I am most displeased, and to add insult to injury, you are laughing at my expense." He stepped into the spring and began wading in her direction.

She skittered away with a laugh. "Serves you right, you mean sod! Making me carry that heavy, heavy bag. You haven't felt anything yet, Lucius!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really!" she laughed. "I'll have you know I am very good at this. I've got ten years of experience under my belt!"

"Experience of being soaked?"

"No! Experience of being _the_ soaker."

"Well," he rejoined, "we shall see about that," and with a wide swish of his hand, he forced a jet of water in her direction, soaking her from head to toe.

She shrieked, the noise carrying upwards to the trees, upsetting birds to squawk angrily at the sound.

"That is unfair!" she accused. "You used magic. Wandless and wordless magic!"

He was smirking again not only because he'd successfully doused her but also because her dress had been transformed into a sheer and clingy material. Unbeknownst to her, it advertised her underwear and the very outline of her waist and hips, much to Lucius' liking.

"Are there rules stating I mustn't?" he said casually, advancing on her again.

She danced away from him. "No but it reeks of cheating." She attempted to splash him again but he dodged it.

"I never cheat," he gave her a charming smile and doused her again.

She screamed again and Lucius could not resist the urge to chuckle but it was his mistake. She took the opportunity of his momentary inattentiveness to rapidly chuck handfuls of water at him. Within moments he was as soaked as she.

"There," she replied with a triumphant smile. "Now the world is balanced."

Her hands were planted on her hips and she was awarding him with the most exquisite smile he'd yet to witness. Her chocolate eyes had lightened to caramel and they were dancing and sparkling with merriment. She was obviously very pleased with herself.

He realised that although he enjoyed riling the girl up, he much preferred when she was smiling as genuinely as she was now. It magnified her loveliness and stirred up the ever-present desire he had for her…and maybe something more which he refused to examine. It felt good, somehow, knowing that he'd been the cause of her pleasure.

His hands twitched at his sides; he wanted to touch her. His eyes fell to the upward curving of her lips; he wanted to kiss her.

"Hardly," he replied casually. "I abhor sodden hair and you have left me to bear this fate. You shall pay dearly."

"Oh, please," she scoffed playfully. "You attacked me first. I had no option but to retaliate."

"If I remember correctly, whilst I was musing privately, I was rudely interrupted by a spray of water in my face."

"Good!" and she began to try to wade away from him but her sopping wet dress prevented her from moving fast enough. He'd caught her, clutching her squirming body before she'd achieved any considerable distance. He turned her around to face him.

"Now be still and accept your due punishment," he said before he brought his lips down on hers.

The fight went out of her immediately. She was willing and pliant in his hands and he smiled in satisfaction against her soft lips. She planted her hands on his shoulders and raised herself to him and he enjoyed the intimate press of flesh against him. Smoothing his tongue along the seam of her lips, she opened them with a sigh, and he kissed her fully, deeply.

Lucius lifted his hand to tangle it within her wet curls. Gripping the back of her head, he forced head backwards, devouring her willing mouth. His desire for her had fully awakened and he attacked her mouth like a thirsting man would a spring. The need for her was incessant, demanding, and he longed to just skip the basics and head for the most important bit. But he would wait. He would wait to satisfy himself as he pleased her first.

He released her mouth to kiss a hot trail down her neck, but he was blocked by the high neck of her dress. No, that would not do. So he lifted the hem of her dress, smoothing his hands along her thigh with the intention to remove the material entirely, when he came across the waistband of her knickers. Divesting her of her dress could wait, he thought, as his hands meandered across her lower abdomen to cup her sex through her knickers.

"My, you've soaked the material entirely," he teased. "To think you want me that much."

"Don't flatter yourself," she laughed. "You doused me, you cheat."

He slipped his finger inside her knickers to find she was, indeed, wet and wanting. He rubbed her flesh slowly and smirked at the little jerk of her body.

"I am insulted by your libelous charges," he replied. "You seemed to have not learnt your lesson. I think I may have to admonish you again." He traced circles against her nether lips, teasing her as she bucked and tried to force herself downwards on his fingers.

She opened her eyes; they were alight with mirrored desire. "Please do,"

Swiftly, he inserted a finger into her moist heat and she moaned her appreciation into his ear. She gripped his shoulders, and at his hiss of pain, she relinquished them immediately to encircle her hands around his neck instead. He began to move the solitary finger within her, but as her mewls became more insistent, he inserted another. Merlin, he was so hard for her. If only it were him deep inside her than his digits.

He smoothed his fingers along her inner walls persistently, in and out as she moaned and sighed his name. Gathering moisture on his thumb, he angled it over her bud of sensitive flesh, rubbing and teasing her onwards to her climax.

"God…Lucius…I want…I need…" she panted.

"What is it? What do you want?"

"You…I need to feel you…" she choked out.

He didn't waste time. Removing his fingers from inside her, he gripped her dress and dragged it over head. He threw the sodden material in the direction of the bag then walked them backwards to the edge of the spring. He then sat, pulling her towards him, over him as he released himself from the constraints of his trousers.

Yes, this was the moment he'd been waiting for. He wanted her so badly that he might go insane if he didn't have her. There was no time to properly rid himself of his own clothing. He just wanted to be buried deep inside her as soon as he possibly can. She really was a witch, wasn't she? She'd placed some kind of spell on him of which he couldn't be bothered to break.

She was eyeing his manhood shyly but appreciatively. How virginal she was. To think he'd been her first and only lover thus far. It struck him with immense male pride. He rather liked the sound of 'only lover'. He thought to himself that maybe he should endeavour to keep it that way.

He guided her to seat herself on his thighs then resumed kissing her. He was more than surprised when she boldly encircled her hand around him, grasping and stroking him. He groaned at the feel of her hot little hand on his flesh, and unable to hold himself any longer, he manoeuvred her body closer and eased her knickers to the side. Getting the gist of things, she removed her hand from his flesh and she cried out in ecstasy when he entered her.

She came almost immediately as he begun to move, clenching him tight, and almost bringing about his own climax prematurely. When her shudders had subsided, he began to move again, bucking his hips upward as she rode him, her hips moving on their own accord. She tangled her fingers in his hair, her fingers flexing against his head at each of his thrusts.

The slick, tight warmth of her was sublime. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the way her hips rocked against him and the way she involuntarily squeezed her inner muscles, sending a jolt of pleasant sensation through him. He grabbed the back of her head and forced her forward in another kiss. She sucked his lips, licked it then proceeded to battle her tongue with his. Their kiss was as frenzied and as rough and as fast as their lovemaking; their tongues and lips imitating what their bodies were doing.

She began straining against him, demanding him to go harder, and he complied. Her second orgasm was near as was his first. Leaning backwards to lie flat on his back, he lifted his legs to anchor himself as he gripped her hips to thrust brutally upwards into her. In a matter of moments, a scream was ripped from her throat as she came, her walls convulsing around him as she shook from the force of her climax. With his eyes screwed shut, he pounded into her faster as his release followed on the heels of hers. He groaned long and low, slowing when he was sure he'd properly spent himself.

They panted heavily, trying to catch their breath, and it was in this moment that an unsettling feeling came over Lucius. He felt he should be concerned about something or remember something or the other but it would not come to him. He decided that if it had been important, he would've been aware and would've made the necessary precautions. It probably wasn't anything worth worrying over.

He glanced up at the girl. She was leaning on his chest, smiling shyly and sweetly at him. No, there wasn't anything to worry about for all was right in the world.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

It was a good hour and a half before their clothing was dried enough to be worn again. They dressed quickly, trying to make up for the time they'd lost _'skylarking'._ A quiet tension had settled between them once more, each mind consumed with thoughts about the other; both afraid and unwilling to examine their burgeoning feelings.

They returned to the trail, trudging along the winding, plant-inhabited path that would lead them closer to Nagini. Between Hermione's thighs ached her but it was not uncomfortable. It only served as a reminder to their prior activities. She felt like a woman properly ravished, and the ensuing guilt after this thought was not as strong as she'd felt the day after her first sexual encounter with Lucius.

But she did feel guilty though. She was a little ashamed at her wantonness, at how quickly she'd succumbed to Lucius' advances, yet again, when she should be rejecting them entirely.

_But why should I feel guilty? Is it wrong to be attracted to someone?_

Yes, it was wrong to be attracted to Lucius Malfoy, of all people. Why couldn't her heart learn its lesson that he was off-limits? It didn't matter that they'd been enemies. That was water under the bridge now in her head. It was the fact that he had been a co-conspirator in her close friends' and family's deaths. How could she forgive such a deed so easily just because his gazes made her belly flutter and churn, and his touches lit her body afire?

And hadn't she contemplated this enough? How many times did she have to get it through her thick skull that Lucius Malfoy was not the right man for her?

Merlin, he was twice times her age! Before she was even born, he'd already been a full-grown man. And even if she disregarded their age gap, what about their fundamental philosophies on life that made them who they were? She believed in equality and freedom for all humans and creatures, whereas he subscribed to the idea of elitism and segregation of the unworthy from the worthy. She valued altruism and the love of your fellow brother, and he placed great significance on self-dependency and the worshipping of those that were stronger than him. They were both highly opinionated and extraordinarily stubborn. They would argue incessantly, none giving up their right for peace.

No, a solid relationship with Lucius Malfoy would not work. What thrived between them was a burning, sense-obliterating passion that would only carry them so far. And even though something adamantly whispered in her ear that she'd fallen in love with him, what was that worth? What did it matter if he did not feel the same?

Her sensible side demanded she give up while she still had her wits about her, whilst the lonely, hopeful side that yearned for love and affection insisted she had a chance. However, ever pragmatic with the ability to compartmentalise her emotions accordingly, she allowed herself to be guided by infallible logic: Lucius Malfoy did not have feelings for her as she did for him, and the sooner they got their business over with, the quicker they each can be rid of the other.

To firmly establish this in her mind, she inquired on the whereabouts of Nagini and how he intended to destroy the beast…without a wand.

"First we must make contact with Dr. Carlow to ascertain the specific location," he answered calmly.

"Dr. Carlow?" she questioned with interest. "Yet another happy helper in your devious scheme? How can this Dr. Carlow aid you, and why is there even a doctor in this merlinforsaken jungle?"

"She is a zoologist," he replied. "I entrusted her with the care and proper feeding of Nagini since she is conducting an extensive study on the animal life in this forest."

_She?_

Hermione had not heard anything beyond that first word. Who was this _she_? What was _she_ to Lucius? How long had they known each other? In all her years since she'd known of the Death Eaters' existence, she'd never heard of a 'Dr. Carlow' amongst their ranks. So why was _she_ trusted enough by Lucius to be privy of Nagini's importance?

The old Green-Eyed Monster or the oceanic waters of the Jealous-Sea swamped Hermione, nearly drowning and choking her before common sense returned with a rude and eye-clearing slap. She was behaving ridiculously; extraordinarily so! There was no cause for jealousy. Why should she care who Lucius told his secrets to? He was his own man, after all.

Besides, who was to say that Dr. Carlow was aware of Nagini's true purpose? Judging by her honorary title, she was most likely a Muggle. In the Wizarding world, a doctor was either addressed as Healer this or Medi-Witch or Medi-Wizard that. The title 'doctor' was hardly, if ever, used. So, in the great likelihood that Dr. Carlow was Muggle, the woman might not even be aware of the snake's malevolent potential. Also, her mind could be at ease. After all, Lucius didn't care much for Muggles…

 _Stop it! I need to cease these absurd thoughts right this minute!_ She screamed at herself.

"This Dr. Carlow," she continued in what she hoped was a calm tone, "does _she_ know about Nagini's evil purpose?"

Lucius looked at her sharply. He must have heard her heavy emphasis on the word 'she', although she hoped he hadn't. She couldn't bear the idea of him discovering that deep, deep down, unwarranted envy was bubbling within her.

"Of course, she does," he answered innocently as he ducked a low-hanging tree branch. "She is a distant— _very_ distant—cousin of mine. At the age of twenty, she traipsed away from the Wizarding world to attend a Muggle university for eight years where she achieved the highest designation in her field."

"How very fascinating," replied Hermione flatly.

* * *

Lucius could not believe his ears. Had he suddenly gone senile or was the little chit, dare he say it, _jealous_?

He laughed to himself. When he'd heard the sharp, accusatory way she'd spoken to him, he couldn't help but consider this theory. That was why he was testing her this very moment. So far, he'd acquired no conclusive evidence. Albeit her voice was bland with no giveaways, he was certain he'd heard an unmistakable flavour of enviousness earlier.

But what need has she to be jealous?

He'd made no indication that he was or had been romantically involved with Dr. Carlow. Even so, why should she care if he did? He was well aware that he was of no important value to her. It didn't matter that they'd twice been intimate. Lust was a powerful, unrelenting emotion. It could get the best of anyone, even prudes like Hermione Granger.

Lucius was suddenly reminded of the way the girl had ridden him as though the Devil Himself had demanded she do so lest He rip her soul to shreds. He felt himself growing hard at the memory. Gods no, she was definitely no prude.

But still, lust or no, the salient point was that Miss Granger had no justifiable reasons to be jealous of the unseen Dr. Carlow. She didn't strike him as possessive. If anything, she was probably the most sharing person he'd ever encountered in his lifetime. However, he doubted she'd be amenable to an open relationship where each partner was allowed to seek different partners…

Merlin, maybe he really was going senile. His old age was turning his brain to mush and divesting him of his withering intelligence. He was most certainly not her partner and, thankfully, she did not consider him the same. He needn't overanalyse these things. It was unbecoming and so very uncharacteristic of him.

Maybe he had misinterpreted the quality of her voice. He eyed her covertly. She was walking alongside him, her face poker-straight. No frowns or scowls marred her pretty face. Yes, it had to be. They'd been walking for so long now. Maybe her heavy breathing, due to growing exertion, had changed the inflections of her voice into something sharp and hard.

But he decided to himself that it wouldn't hurt to observe her a little more closely henceforth.

* * *

"Gods above! Lucius, is that you, darling?" cried a feminine voice with a soft, lilting Irish twang.

"Maria," greeted Lucius warmly, a smile curving his lips. "How good it is to see you again, my dear."

Dr. Maria Carlow was a black-haired beauty with crystalline-blue eyes, and an oval-shaped face that another might call 'heart-shaped'. With high cheekbones, supple and well-defined lips, and wrinkle-free skin, she was a woman of indeterminate age. If Hermione had to hedge a guess, she would be forced to say early twenties, even though she knew it was impossible.

There went her hopes that Dr. Carlow was old and hideous.

The woman was stunning. It was undeniable. She had the kind of air-brushed beauty one only glimpsed in celebrity magazines after they'd been through tubs of make-up. Her skin, previously fair, had attained a tanned hue from hours working in the Caribbean sun. It complemented well with her raven-coloured hair, and it twisted Hermione's gut with added twinges of envy. Instantaneously, irrationally, crazily, she despised Dr. Maria Carlow.

"Lucius, how wonderful it is to see you," enthused Maria as she flung her arms carelessly about Lucius' neck. She pressed herself against him, kissed each of his cheeks then smiled beautifully up into his face. "I haven't seen you in ages. I've missed you."

"Likewise, I, Maria," concurred Lucius affectionately. "The Dark Lord has kept me busy these past two years since I've seen you last, as I'm sure your animal studies have done you, as well." He smiled.

Maria returned his smile with yet another blinding one of her own. "You know me so well. Nothing can take me away from my passion in life." Then, finally, he gaze wandered over to where Hermione stood trying her best to be inconspicuous. "And who is this?"

"Her name is Harriet Grander," answered Lucius swiftly. "She is a newly appointed Death Eater. I have taken her under my wing to show her the way of things. She is my apprentice of sorts."

A cloud ghosted over Maria's face so quickly that had Hermione not been studying the woman's face, she would've missed it. Then Maria's face lighted up once more as she walked to where Hermione stood, extending a hand to be shaken.

"Hello, dearie, my name is Maria Carlow," she said, smiling. "I'm sorry I'd not noticed you earlier. You see, it's been so long since Lucius and I have seen each other. I just couldn't help myself."

"Pleasure," said Hermione softly, shaking the woman's proffered hand. "Quite understandable. I take no offense."

Maria sized Hermione up, her sharp blue eyes scrutinising Hermione to an uncomfortable degree. "You look a little young to be a Death Eater, Harriet."

A nonsensical need to prove herself rose within Hermione, even though it were all lies, and that she was infuriated with Lucius for labelling her as a 'Death Eater' for unknown reasons.

Her shoulders squared, her chin raised, she replied, "Don't worry," then she settled her gaze meaningfully on Lucius. "I am old enough."

* * *

Lucius smiled to himself. How he loved to be right in his presumptions. He found this situation incredibly interesting. Why was the girl being so covetous concerning him? Why indeed?

Did she hold him in higher value than he'd assumed? If so, why?

How strange. Only a few nights ago, she was screaming on about them being enemies. Although, yes, she'd retracted her statement. But still, what was the meaning of her attitude?

_Does it matter? I quite enjoy her feathers ruffled._

Oh yes, he did. Maybe just once more he'd like to see that gleam of jealousy in her eyes. It really did wonders to his pride.

* * *

Hermione's feet were tired. Three hours of walking on uneven ground, up hills, through valleys and down slopes had turned her feet defiant. They demanded she stop walking now lest they declare mutiny and refuse to listen to her brain's order to move. But she plugged on, she had to. Dr. Maria Carlow was leading them towards the area where she'd encased Nagini.

Her skin had become sweaty again, and the sun's heat—though offset by the cooling abilities of the trees—made her slightly woozy and unfocused. She was lagging behind Lucius and Maria, who were in constant, flirtatious conversation, stopping frequently whenever she found a large shady spot to rest under.

She glared balefully at the back of their heads, especially Lucius'. His sudden animation and joviality in Maria's presence was like sandpaper against her heart. It just rubbed her hard. He was never like that with her. He was either cool and distant or pawing at her lustily. There was never an in-between where he simply enjoyed her company.

Ok, maybe she was exaggerating. She'd be lying if there hadn't been frequent moments when they'd made civil, enlightening, even funny conversation. How else could they have gotten along those past weeks? Lust had not been the only thing carrying them, certainly not. However, the sexual undertones had always been there; ever present and biding its time.

Nevertheless, she found herself resentful as she heard Lucius chuckle heartily at some witty remark of Maria's. She wanted to tune them out, just be unable to hear their comments laced with double-entendres of a more-than-friendly nature.

_And he said she was his cousin. That nasty, incestuous prick!_

Leave it to the Purebloods. Family was not off-limits when it came to romantic interests. Their double-standards were amazing. They would rather suffer a disgraceful death than link themselves to non-magical folk, yet they had no qualms in intermarriage. _Disgusting_. She looked up in time to see Maria massage the area of Lucius' shoulder wound. It did not look on-toward but Hermione's mind convinced her it was an intimate gesture.

She took deep breaths. This needed to stop. She had to remind herself that Lucius did not belong to her and that she did not care that he didn't. He was not important to her. She should not feel a sense of hurt or betrayal that he was flirting away with another woman. It did not concern her. It did not bother her. _She did not care_.

But, Merlin, she did. She could deny it all she wanted but she did. Jealousy was wholly unpleasant and atypical of her but she was indulging in heaps of it. She cared for Lucius Malfoy immensely. Even now, she secretly wondered if the long journey had been hard on his healing ribcage, and if there was any way she could alleviate his pain.

Dear God, she was far gone, wasn't she? Too far gone to turn back. And if she could not turn back, then maybe she should deviate from the path. Maybe she should just leave silently while his back was turned, while his attention was so deeply engrossed in another…

"Here we are," announced Maria, her voice slicing through Hermione's morbid thoughts.

They were standing in front of a small cave that if one wanted to enter it, one had to bend themselves uncomfortably to get in.

Then Maria frowned at the cave's opening. "But that's strange. I usually place a powerful Disillusionment charm on this cave after every visit."

Lucius gazed at her sharply, "And you're positive that you had not forgotten to do so?"

"Positive," assured Maria with a nod. "Nagini is not to be trifled with. My own Disillusionment charm is powerful enough to act as a Muggle-repellent. I don't want unnecessary deaths in my forest."

Hermione came forward, her interest piqued. "So who could've broken through your charm? What if Nagini has escaped?"

Maria turned to her. "This entrance belies the interior's size. Within, it is large enough to hold an entire crowd of fifty adult humans. I have also placed strong charms inside to prevent Nagini from escaping." She then pivoted to frown again at the cave's mouth. "I must go and make sure that everything is in order."

And before anybody could stop her, Maria crouched her way into the cave.

* * *

Lucius' instincts told him that something had gone terribly wrong and this new development only confirmed what his mind was telling him. He tried to remember whether he'd disclosed the location he'd hid Nagini to the Dark Lord and was dismayed when his mind immediately served him the memory. The Dark Lord, as much as he'd trusted Lucius, had only trusted his own self implicitly. Every order he'd issued, he'd made sure to get a follow-up report on, and Lucius' mission had been no different. The information on Nagini's hiding place had been supplied immediately.

Anger boiled hot in Lucius. It seemed that everywhere he went, the Dark Lord was one step ahead. He wondered what, exactly, had his erstwhile leader done now. Had he infiltrated Nagini's cave and whisked the snake away? Or was he, even now, waiting for him in the depths of the cave?

This final thought sent a bolt of electricity through him. If, indeed, the Dark Lord was down there, maybe this was his chance. The Dark Lord was powerful, yes, but he was an able duellist. He'd already decided on the curse he'd use to kill Nagini. All he needed to do was murder the snake then send its Master following along with it.

The only problem in this plan was the wand. He'd hoped to gain Maria's wand but the woman had already disappeared through the cave.

Merlin, she was in the cave! If she was caught, she would not be harmed but surely, she would be divested of her wand, and he needed it.

He crouched, already working his way into the small hole despite his ribs' protestations when he heard the girl call his name.

"Lucius."

He closed his eyes, savouring the way her soft voice added a kind of sensuality to his name. The girl. In his haste, he'd forgotten about her. He did not want her down in that cave if the Dark Lord was down there waiting for him. He did not want her hurt.

_She is impor…I…I just don't want her to be hurt…_

"Stay here," he commanded. "Do not follow me, Miss Granger. I would be furious if you do."

And he disappeared into the cave as well.

* * *

Hermione scowled at the empty space where Lucius had previously inhabited. Who was he to be ordering her around? Why shouldn't she follow him? She wanted to see that evil beast being killed as well. Or maybe he didn't want her following for other reasons? After all, Maria had gone down there as well. Maybe he wanted a private sexual rendezvous with beautiful doctor…

The thought simultaneously pained and angered her. Was that his true intention? Her mind threw up images of Lucius and Maria, the two beauties, snogging away in the gloom, while she waited, lovelorn like an idiot, for them. She felt sick to her stomach, nausea rising at the thought of being betrayed.

Then she heard a scream. A high-pitched, feminine scream of fear and alarm. She stood up straighter, straining her ears to hear more but nothing else came. What was going on? Who screamed? Was it Maria? If so, why did she scream?

Belatedly, she remembered the way Maria had frowned at her charm's disturbance and the way Lucius' face had taken on a suspicious look. What if harm had befallen them? What if Lucius was hurt?

Unheeding of Lucius' words, she dropped the bag she'd been carrying and began her own crouch through the small opening. She was forced to move slowly as the walls of the cave were slippery and any speedy movement might ensure she fall on her face. She heard Maria shriek again, this time with terror. Her belly clenched tight and her hands jittery with fear, she advanced forwards still. Her mind replayed the conversation she and Lucius had had before Crabbe and Goyle had invaded their cabin.

_Curiosity killed the cat._

_Ah but satisfaction brought it back._

Would curiosity kill her? She had to know. She had to make sure that all was well even though it was steadily sounding as though it wasn't. Was Voldemort down there? Was Lucius down there with him, wandless…defenseless? Maybe she should turn back? She held no allegiance to Lucius Malfoy. She needn't risk her life for him.

_But you love him…you know you do…_

Finally, the tight squeeze of the cave opened up into a wide, enclosed area, as large as Maria had mentioned earlier. It was gloomy, the only source of light were a few holes in the roof, awarding little splotches of sunlight here and there. It was filled with sharp, foreboding stalagmites and stalactites that clung to the darkest areas. The entire place carried a dank, musty air probably due to the many puddles of water that had accumulated on the floor.

And in the very middle of the area stood Lucius, duelling against two men.

She froze at the sight, not only because of her fear, but also because she recognised both men, especially the one to Lucius' right. It was her former Potions professor, Severus Snape.

Maria screamed again and she turned her head in the direction of the sound, temporarily forgetting her shock. There, her back forced up against a thick clump of rocks, was the doctor as she gazed frightfully up at the towering monster that was Nagini. The snake was huge, its body bobbing and weaving as it hissed at Maria. Its intention was very clear: Maria was going to be food.

Hermione wanted to do something, but she never felt more helpless in her life than this moment.

"Malfoy, you traitor!" screamed the man to Lucius' left, Yaxley. "Die as you ought to! Avada Kedavra!"

Lucius barely ran out of the path of the green jet blasted his way before he retaliated on Yaxley with a powerful Knockback Jinx. It sent the man flying, his body careening to a solid slab of stone wall where his head connected with a sickening, resounding crack. Yaxley went down and stayed down.

"Very impressive," commended Snape silkily at the same moment that Maria screamed once more.

It was here that everything ran in slow motion for Hermione. The next time she would remember this moment, everything would be as clear in her mind as if it were happening all over again. In that moment, the following events had only taken mere seconds to occur, but in her vision, things had slowed to an interminable crawl.

The snake lunged at Maria, its neck curving smoothly, slowly downwards with the intention of gobbling the woman whole. Hermione watched as Lucius lifted the wand in his hand, pointed it at the snake and shouted a curse that issued a jet of red light from the wand's tip.

"Sectummortus!"

In her mind's eye, the curse seemed to have taken its own sweet time to hit the snake, and when it finally did, the ensuing bloody dissections was so leisurely done, it was sickening to behold. Thick globs of blood and body matter splattered a screaming Dr. Maria Carlow as the snake was severed to death in pieces. The beast writhed in obvious pain but no salvation was offered.

And she watched as Lucius' inattention prevented him from seeing Snape's rising wand. On autopilot, she began to run. Run towards Lucius. She thought of nothing but to save him. She screamed his name and he turned towards her voice, and he was glaring at her. Angry at her disobedience. She screamed his name again, as she ran, as Snape uttered his spell, as the spell blasted its way from Snape's wand-tip.

Her body, in slow motion, connected with Lucius', her flailing hands shoving him to the floor, out of the way of Snape's curse.

_Thank God. Thank God. I've saved him. Thank God…_

And then something hit her. Something excruciatingly painful. Her whole body felt as though it was on fire or as if tens of thousands of knives had suddenly attacked her. They ripped her dress, they sliced her skin, they gouged her flesh, and they drew her blood. Rivers and rivers of blood, running from each opened wound on her body. Covering her red…covering her red…covering her red…

_Thank God…he's safe…_

Thick, impenetrable blackness claimed her. Hermione's bloody body, lacerated viciously by Severus Snape's Sectumsempra curse, fell lifelessly to the floor.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Lucius watched in a daze of horror and disbelief as the girl's bleeding body collapsed to the floor. Paralysed where he sat, he stared at her limp, unmoving body, willing her, _hoping_ that she'd indicate some sign of life. But she did not move, not even a reflexive twitch of a finger. She just stayed there, her eyes closed, her face marred by those blasted slashes as she bled her life away.

He was awoken from his daze when he felt something hit his lap. Blearily, he looked down and saw a vial that contained a murky brown liquid.

"You should know what to do," said a silky voice. A voice he knew all too well.

Fury, fiery hot and alive, surged within him. Ripped out of his shock, he launched himself to his feet, the vial tumbling away from his lap to fall tinkling to the floor. With an Avada Kedavra on the very tip of his tongue, he pointed his wand at Snape, snarling at his once best friend. Snape's obsidian eyes flickered with minute surprise and interest at Lucius' response before he calmly repeated,

"You should know what to do."

"Crucio!" snarled Lucius in reply.

But Severus Snape had already Disapparitioned with a pop before Lucius' curse could strike him.

* * *

Quickly, quietly but carefully, he, with Maria's help, stripped the remains of Hermione's shredded dress and her equally ripped undergarments. Legions of lacerations populated her body from her chest to her thighs, steadily leaking out her life's essence in rivulets. Sickened by the sight of the slick, red liquid coating her body, Lucius forced Maria's wand back into her hand and turned away from Hermione's prone form.

He was not usually uncomfortable at the sight of blood. His many years in the service of the Dark Lord had acclimatised him to the various macabre displays in which one could lose that precious, vital fluid. He just could not stand the sight of _her_ bloodshed. It…pained him, he admitted to himself. And it made him extraordinarily angry with her.

With himself.

With… _Voldemort_.

Voldemort. He felt a sort of liberation saying that name. All this time it was Dark Lord this, Dark Lord that. Well no more. He was tired of his servile attitude to that abomination even after his desertion. Voldemort. That was the name of the bastard that had murdered his wife, who held his son captive, and the owner of the hand who'd orchestrated the current demise of the girl. Even now, she could well be following along on the path of his late wife…

He dashed the thought. He did not want to contemplate losing her. Angrily, selfishly, he thought that her departure from him had to be set on his terms; when he had tired of her and wished her gone. How dare she, that willful, heedless, determined wench just decide to leave his life as quickly as she'd entered it? How dare she introduce him to her comforting hands, her warm words, and her brilliant, sharing soul then abandon him as he'd begun to feel comfortable? How dare she show him light then throw him back to the dogs of dark? How _dare_ she?

He was positively furious with her. He'd warned her not to follow, and blindly, she'd disobeyed him. Running at full speed, she'd shoved him out of harm's way and sacrificed herself to the fate that had been meant for himself. Good God! What was it with these stupidly courageous Gryffindors? Why did they leap first before ever stopping to look? And why had she saved him, yet again? Why was she so adamant in binding him tighter to her with continued life-debts?

He was now triply bound to her, and with this latest save, he was not even sure he would be able to repay her.

A Muggleborn, whose life he'd tried many times to take had, in turn, saved his own more than once.

How, indeed, was he ever going to repay Hermione Granger?

* * *

Three successful _Vulnera Sanentur_ spell castings, and an emptied vial of Dittany later, Lucius held Hermione's body in his arms as they gingerly made their way back to Maria's campsite. It was slow going, as the cave's entrance was slippery, and he feared upsetting her deep wounds. Also, the intense duelling had provoked Lucius' own healing ribcage and shoulder to a constant thrum of pain. But Lucius gritted his teeth and bore it.

Finally, arriving outside of the cave, Lucius spied the abandoned backpack the girl had carried along with her, and he frowned at it. Created mere hours ago, the memory of her throwing the bag down in anger and frustration at the heat rose before his mind's eye. He remembered the spark of ire that had glittered in her eyes at him, and how he'd enjoyed being the cause of it. He wondered to himself whether he'd witness such instances again.

_Melodramatics are unbecoming, old man._

He wanted to roll his eyes. He'd probably spent too much time in the girl's company. She was rubbing off on him.

Remembering that she'd packed nursing necessities in the bag, he indicated with a nod of his head in the direction of the bag, and said to Maria,

"Pick that up. We will need it."

* * *

"Thank Merlin, you killed the snake," said Maria quietly the next morning. "I hope you kill him too."

Lucius was surprised. He'd expected a multitude of questions as to why'd he'd killed his "Master's" snake. He had not expected silent, gleeful acceptance. He was already ruminating over the reasons why Severus had cursed the girl then immediately given him an antidote to save her. As much as he was grateful to his old friend, he still wanted to murder him. Or at least have him suffer excruciating pain.

He rolled his shoulders slowly, enjoying the painlessness of the movement. Albeit Maria was a herpetologist, she was still a smart witch and a doctor to boot. She'd armed herself with many different healing pastes and potions in the event of a vicious attack by one of her snake friends, namely Nagini. The night prior, after serving Hermione a Blood-Replenishing potion, she had slapped on a smelly, green paste on his shoulder, and had produced a spoonful of Skele-Gro to help speed up the healing of his broken ribs.

"I'm so glad you've come to your senses," she continued softly. "He did not deserve your adoration, Lucius. Just as I never gave him mine. He is unnatural. An abomination to the earth. So was that…that _beast._ " Here, she sneered. "I am very, _very_ glad you killed it."

He made no reply. Instead, his gaze meandered the length of Maria's Disillusioned tent that was as large as his Manor's living room. Like a magnet finding its true north, his eyes honed in on the lump that was Hermione on a transfigured cot. She'd yet to awaken even after her third dosage of the Blood-Replenishing potion, her body temperature fluctuating over the course of her unconsciousness.

"You love her, don't you?" Maria said so softly that it was almost a whisper.

Lucius' head whipped around so fast, his neck gave a twinge of protest. Indifferent grey eyes met all-knowing blue ones.

"Don't be absurd," he answered stiffly. "You know as well as I that I am incapable of such an overvalued emotion. I am merely concerned for my apprentice's welfare."

"I don't believe you," Maria responded swiftly. "Don't you love me?"

He pursed his lips. "You are family. It is obligatory that I care for you."

"What about Draco?" she persisted, "And…Narcissa?"

"Draco is my son. I wish the best for him and care from him deeply."

"And Narcissa?" she repeated.

"Narcissa is dead."

"I heard," she replied simply. "But you have not answered my question. Did you love Narcissa, Lucius?"

He glared at her, refusing to say anymore for some time before he relented quietly to say, "Narcissa was…she was dear to me."

He remembered the day he'd met Narcissa Black twenty-odd years ago. How her long, fair hair—much like his own—had enthralled him. The way her intelligent, azure gaze had pinned him, stripped him, and then dismissed him at their first sight of him. The supple curve of her pink lips the night he first kissed her, and the light, melodiousness of her laughter whenever she teased him. Then suddenly, his memory became muddled, and it served him a woman with a riot of brown curls. A woman whose eyes were not blue as a summer's sky, but the brown of good coffee or quality chocolate. A brown that lightened to a lovely caramel when its owner was spirited or delighted. And he heard her laugh, he saw her wonderful smile, he heard her sweet, soft voice as it wrapped its way around his name.

_Lucius…Lucius…_

No. No. He was incapable of love. He did not love her. He did not love Hermione Granger.

"Oh, yes, you love her, Lucius," affirmed Maria as though she'd been hearing his thoughts. "But you deny it because you just don't want to."

* * *

The second day dawned, and yet, the girl refused to awake from unconsciousness. Maria had Apparated to the city to purchase potion making materials. He was left alone in the unsettling quietude to twiddle his thumbs. As much as his mind was consumed by the girl, he'd begun to worry more for his son. He knew Voldemort was aware of his success at killing Nagini, and he wondered to himself if the dark wizard would retaliate.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Draco's death for Nagini's…

He contemplated leaving. The girl was safe in Maria's hands; he had no doubts of this. Besides, his true purpose was back in England, not here to continuously gaze anxiously at the girl. Also, he did not want to encourage Maria's foolish notions that he loved the girl, neither did he want to encourage himself. He was steadfastly getting annoyed with the knowing looks Maria threw his way whenever he enquired about the girl's health.

Quietly, he made his way to stand over her cot. He gazed down at her eerily still face, her cheeks finally pink after being so pale the day before. Her eyelids hid the beautiful twin orbs of chocolate he knew existed, and her lips were pursed in a slight pout. She was as attractive even when in sleep. A modern day _Sleeping Beauty_ waiting for her young, handsome prince to kiss her awake.

He stared at her lips again; they beckoned him to take them.

He certainly was no prince, he knew that much. Handsome he may be, indeed, but young he was not. He didn't consider himself _old,_ either, but just pleasantly in the middle.

Gently, he perched himself at the edge of the cot and continued to stare at her. He was not a prince and he could never be hers. He was not the right fit for that position, but he conceded that he would not mind trying. She did something to him. Whenever he was in her presence—and he always was—he found himself wanting to be better, somehow, even though he was past the stage of willing change.

Softly, she sighed in her sleep and Lucius' gaze was refocused once more on her mouth. He lifted his hand to smooth his thumb along her forehead. An extraordinarily loving gesture for a man who claimed an inability for such a thing. Leaning forwards, downwards, he kissed her fully on her lips.

"Finally, you slowpoke," he heard as he felt her lips move against his.

He reared back, astonished, and a little embarrassed at being caught in his sneaky act.

"Oh my, Lucius Malfoy are you _blushing_?"

* * *

Hermione felt tired. Unbearably so. She felt as though she'd taken a good beating by thugs the size of Crabbe and Goyle combined, and had lived to feel her fate. It was her first real moment of complete lucidity since she'd been cursed and she clung to it. She did not like the murky realms of her unconsciousness.

She'd been fully awake and aware the moment her body registered a slight shift on the bed where she lay. Immediately, without opening her eyes she'd known it was Lucius. His touch along her forehead had felt so comforting and right. Why he had been sitting and staring at her was beyond her, but for some reason, she'd felt as though she ought to prolong the illusion of unconsciousness. And how glad she was she had done so. The surprised embarrassment on his face that he was steadfastly trying to control was worth it.

Slowly, with his help, she raised herself to a sitting position on the cot.

"You little minx," he smirked, "pretending to be asleep."

"Only to see what a perverted man like you would do to a helpless woman such as myself."

"You might have liked it had you not spoken so quickly,"

Her eyes shiny with mirth, she replied, "I might have."

"Alas, you shall never learn of my intentions,"

"No doubt they were dir—"

He cut her off with a hard, possessive kiss that she yielded to without protest. After wrestling her tongue with his, he licked her lips then whispered against them. "I am very, _very_ displeased with you, Hermione."

A sensation, much like a shooting arrow, went through her. It was the second time he'd spoken her name, and it sounded as delicious on his tongue as the first time.

"I had advised you to wait for me, and yet, ever the mindless Gryffindor you are, you defied my instructions," he continued.

She lifted an eyebrow. "I saved your life. I had expected a showering of immense gratitude when I'd awakened."

"You will receive no such thing, you foolish girl," he said sharply. She could see his eyes darkening with growing anger. "It would only encourage you. Your reckless act nearly cost you your life and now I've found myself binded even tighter to you through our debt."

Her ire was sparked as well. She scowled at him. "I'm sorry I saved your life, you mean, insufferable ingrate! What a waste. Maybe a good Sectumsempra might have sliced away your ingratitude and engendered some thankfulness in that empty, cold heart of yours!"

He scowled right back at her. "And I see that the very same curse has been unable to curb that careless tongue of yours."

She turned her face away from him. "Leave me alone. I have nothing more to say to you."

He gripped her chin and forced her to face him again. "Regardless, I have something else to say to you."

Her scowl deepened. "What? A continued derision of my intelligence?"

His face was sombre as he replied. "No, we have already established that your actions were foolhardy. However, I am not ungrateful. Far from it. You have saved my life again and have awarded me yet another chance at life to, in turn, save my son. Thank you."

She replied with a haughty sniff. "Hmph."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Unfortunately, because Igor Grogoch's illegal Port Key's time limit had been surpassed, Lucius and Hermione were stuck on the small mainland island of St. Vincent. This setback incensed Lucius enough to return to wholeheartedly blaming Hermione, which in turn, angered her beyond reason to colourful disparagements directed his way. They argued continuously for the remainder of the day, and when Maria had teasingly accused them of sounding like an 'old married couple', she scurried away when she received twin sets of disgusted sneers.

Hermione was confused, and more than a little infuriated. Why was he so angry that she'd saved his life? Why did he thank her one moment then call her 'insensibly headstrong' the next? Despite the fact that she'd nearly died, wasn't there even an infinitesimal flicker of happiness that she'd survived? And most importantly, why had he lingered when he could have utilised the Port Key, and proceeded without her?

Did he…care for her?

It was the only conclusion her sensible—although Lucius begged to differ on this—mind could come to. If he had been so concerned for his son, and could have cared less whether she lived or died, he would not have awarded her unconscious body a backwards glance as he rode his Port Key homebound to Britain. Surely he had not stayed merely to extend his heartfelt gratitude, for he was doing none of that even now. So, returning full circle, it begged the question: why was Lucius Malfoy angry?

Was he upset with her specifically or the situation she'd been in?

She didn't know, and frankly, her brain was much too weary for inner conjectures. Besides, she rather liked the supposition that he cared for her. Although her mind consistently scoffed at the thought, it gave her heart hope.

On Friday, the day after Hermione's awakening, Maria returned from the main city with tolerable news. She had visited St. Vincent's Ministry of Magic Headquarters, and had made an application for an emergency Port Key. Surprisingly, she was notified that an emergency Port Key took a total of two weeks to be processed, and indignant at the ridiculous time frame, she argued her way to the International Cooperation Department's head. Here, a sly implication was made that some shiny gold might expedite the proceedings.

One hundred Vincentian dollars in the coffers of Mr. Clancy later, Maria was issued a Port Key that would not activate until the following Friday.

"Maybe we could have taken a plane?" Hermione suggested softly as she glanced uneasily at Lucius' darkening features. "It's quicker…far quicker."

"Yes it is," agreed Maria, "but neither of you have your passports."

"What about an emergency passport?"

Maria frowned. "The nearest British High Commission is in the neighbouring island, Barbados. It will take at least a month to attain those passports. Not to mention, the cost of a flight to Britain is tremendously expensive."

Hermione could not resist the dig. "The expense would not have mattered had Lucius remembered to walk with his bank card. How terribly forgetful of him."

Maria chuckled. Lucius glared.

* * *

And so, the week slowly passed by as Lucius steadily grew anxious and as Hermione steadily grew…uncomfortable. Something felt wrong with her. Something was…off. More so physically than mentally. Ever since her attack, her body refused to return to its previous normality. She drank Blood-Replenishing potions by the cupfuls and took long naps, and yet, she constantly felt drained.

When the Friday of their departure had arrived, they received a nasty shock when they learnt that the Port Key had not been activated. Typical of shoddy, inept government administration, they had skylarked on the processing of the necessary papers, and the Remote Port Key Activator had taken a two week leave-of-absence. However, after Maria's furious threats of hexes and snake attacks, they apologised profusely, returned her money, and promised to attain a temporary Activator as soon as possible.

To Hermione's surprise, she discovered she got on fantastically well with Maria. The woman was charming, witty, forthright and self-possessed. And she spoke to Lucius Malfoy as though he were a petulant, selfish little boy. This, most of all, gave Hermione endless amusement. Without it being plainly spoken, she learnt that Lucius and Maria were comfortably familiar with each other, and that was just it. There was nothing more to their relationship than familial appreciation.

The days continued to go by, in which Hermione's body slowly became mutinous. To accompany her persistent tiredness was a slow throb of pain in her lower belly, and sore breasts that refused to be laid on at night. She did not mind the ache in her belly. It signified the coming of her monthly, which was late, judging by her mental (and Dr. Carlow's) almanac. Hermione prized routine and regularity; she abhorred late or skipped monthlies.

By Wednesday afternoon of the third week staying with Maria, Hermione was suffering from perpetual nausea. She'd barely kept her breakfast down and actually dreaded the thought of having anything to eat further. An awful, queasy feeling filled her stomach, travelling upwards to her throat constantly, and it worsened every time she dared swallow. It took all her might not to run and find the nearest toilet bowl.

At present, she was alone in the Disillusioned tent as Lucius had disappeared off to Merlin-knows-where, and Maria had gone on one of her explorations to acquire another reptilian or amphibian friend. The woman's enthusiasm was admirable, and Hermione had read through the doctor's notes and studies, and found it all intriguing and enlightening. However, she had begged off from going on the exploration due to her nausea.

Hoping that fresh air might alleviate the queasiness, she decided to poke her head outside of the tent. At the same moment she did so, she saw Sybil, Maria's two year old and very pregnant iguana, sunbathing on a rock.

And in that instant, horror like no other coursed through Hermione as dots began to connect in her head.

Good Lord…was she…was she…she couldn't _possibly_ be pregnant?

She pulled herself back inside the tent; Sybil's rotundity was like a slap in her face. In a daze, she sank into a nearby wooden chair as she contemplated her newfound revelation.

Hermione prided herself on her intelligence, but it failed her now. Pregnancy had never particularly interested her. During school, she'd been career driven and had scoffed at any life that suggested otherwise. That wasn't to say she hadn't wanted the 'ideal life' for herself. Of course she had wanted to marry. Of course she had wanted to have children. Of course she had wanted the compulsory van to lug her children to school with, and the accompanying dog named Fido. But she had to attain her bachelor's degree or, better yet, master's in this or that first!

Alas, that destiny had escaped her. The War came and it went, dragging her dreams of succeeding at the top of her class and in her career down the rabbit hole. But it didn't mean her dreams were unachievable. It just meant drastic changes had to be implemented first. Reintegrating into the Wizarding world of Britain was impossible now, when Voldemort was the Minister for Magic. That was why she would stick by Lucius Malfoy to bring Voldemort down. She refused to consider living and prospering anywhere else outside of Wizarding Britain.

Digressions aside, there was a pressing matter to consider. She was— _possibly—_ pregnant.

Then the next thought carried her out further into the sea of horror: she was—possibly!—pregnant…with Lucius Malfoy's child.

She dragged her hands down her face, her fingernails scraping almost painfully against her flesh. No…this was unbelievable. The idea was much too farfetched to contemplate.

_I am not pregnant for Lucius Malfoy! That's impossible!_

But she wasn't stupid. She may not have read much on the symptoms of pregnancy, but she'd overheard the crying woes of pregnant women. Not to mention, various biological research had led her down familiar alleys. She vaguely remembered the grumblings about missing monthlies, incessant nausea, swollen legs, constant urination, and perpetual tiredness. But how quickly did these symptoms develop? After all, the last time she and Lucius had…well…the last time any intimacy had transpired was at the spring.

Immediately, as if triumphant, her brain supplied her with the memory of the night she'd lost her virginity.

_Regardless of what day those events occurred…it only matters that we had not…protected ourselves._

Her body deflated, sinking lower and lower into the chair, her legs stretched out ahead of her. In the heat of their passion, they had both neglected to inquire whether or not precautions had been made. Righteous indignation rose temporarily within her. It claimed that, of the two, she had been the most inexperienced, that the ball had been in Lucius' court to consider any and all protection. Angrily, she wondered why he'd never made mention of it. Suspiciously, she speculated whether he'd done it on purpose.

However, logic overrode senseless resentment. Why would Lucius Malfoy, Pureblood supremacist, want to impregnate Hermione Granger, Mudblood Extraordinaire? It boggled the mind and defied reasonableness. He was on a quest to annihilate the darkest and most powerful wizard that was alive today. His son was being held imprisoned by the aforementioned dark wizard. He wouldn't suddenly decide to go off-course and 'sow seeds'.

She needed help. No. She needed _answers_. She had to know whether this was true. Was she carrying Lucius Malfoy's child or was her delusional mind, controlled by her lovelorn heart, playing tricks on her? And if she was, what would she do? Would she keep it or immediately try to rid her body of it? And worst of all to consider: would she tell Lucius?

How could she announce such a thing? Gryffindors were courageous by nature, but she thought she'd rather throw herself before another Sectumsempra curse once more than say, to _Lucius Malfoy,_ "Umm…I'm pregnant. With your baby. Yay?"

The thought made her queasy. Literally.

* * *

"Maria, I need your help."

It had taken Hermione immense fortitude to decide to ask Maria's help, and twice times more to go ahead and do so. She was a nervous wreck by the time the doctor had returned from her expedition. Before Dr. Carlow could even set aside her backpack, Hermione was by her side, beseeching her.

"Whatever for?" Maria's intelligent blue eyes searched Hermione's anxious brown ones.

"I…er…I…" choked Hermione. "I need a full body examination."

"But, Harriet—" began Maria.

"My name is Hermione, not Harriet," Hermione finally confessed. Why Lucius had kept her identity hidden evaded her. "My name is Hermione Granger."

Maria's eyes widened in recognition, and then squinted in silent comprehension. "Now, I understand."

Nervousness forgotten. "What? What is it?"

"Hermione Granger…the infamous Muggle-born witch," Maria replied with a mysterious smile. "No wonder he doesn't want to…"

Very curious. "Does not want what? Who are you speaking of? Is it Lucius?"

Maria only shook her head. "Never mind that. Why do you want a full body examination? My cursory inspection revealed that you are healthy."

Anxious again, she chewed her lip a moment before she sighed heavily and made her final confession.

"I…I think I'm pregnant."

And three minutes later, after a swish of Maria's wand, and a muttered pregnancy-confirmation charm, it was revealed that Hermione Granger was three weeks pregnant with Lucius Malfoy's child.

And just mere moments after being paralysed with this new discovery, Hermione watched as the man in question reentered the tent.

* * *

Lucius halted mid-stride and stared hard at the two women. They were looking at him as if he were a corpse come alive. Maria was gripping her wand and the girl was clutching her shirt front, her knuckles pale. What had they been up to? Why were they staring at him in such a way? Were they discussing him? Then something heavy settled in his stomach. Was that infernal cousin of his whispering outrageous lies to the girl about love this and love that?

Frowning darkly at Maria, he hoped that was not the case.

"What mischief are you two concocting?" he queried.

"Nothing," they both answered without hesitation.

He squinted. This was suspicious. Extraordinarily so.

"I did not ask what you were doing," he explained. "But your hasty replies make me even more curious. I hope whatever your devious minds are considering does not concern me?"

He watched as the girl fought to maintain her staid features, but he had caught the minute flicker of terror on her face. Why was she terrified? And what concerned him that made her so?

"Lucius," smiled Maria, "we were merely enjoying a personal, _feminine_ heart to heart. Nothing that would interest you. We were only a little startled at your sudden entrance."

He did not believe her. Maria had an exceptionally glib tongue, and could reason her way out of any situation. She was a relative of the Malfoy family, he expected no less. However, he was not easily fooled. Maria's tight smile and the girl's sudden aversion from his gaze was tell-tale enough. There was something amiss, and he intended to find out.

Nevertheless, he was tired. His long, aimless walk, rehabilitative to his peace-of-mind, had wearied him. He was reluctant to play detective tonight. If they wanted to keep secrets, let them do so for the night. When the morrow dawned, and his strength had returned, then maybe he would pursue the conversation.

"As you say," he replied nonchalantly then he made his way to his bed.

* * *

Dismally, as Hermione dressed for her journey back to Britain the following morning, she wondered how _it_ had survived. She'd been hit by a nasty Sectumsempra curse, and had lost a lot of blood. Albeit she'd been force-fed Blood-Replenishing potion, hadn't _it_ been affected? Her life had been in danger, and yet, _it_ had held on tenaciously to life. Humourlessly, she wondered, between her and Lucius, whose obstinacy _it_ took the heaviest from.

 _It_. The baby. Her baby. Lucius' baby. _Their_ baby.

This was a nightmare or some sick joke. Hadn't she been dealt a stiff, hard hand already? She'd lost her family, her friends…her life. And now, to be saddled with such an enormous responsibility. One she knew she alone would have to bear…goodness, hadn't evil Fate done enough? Lucius Malfoy would not help her. The moment she opened her mouth and made him knowledgeable, he would immediately demand she 'get rid of it'.

And when she defied him, he would cut her out of his life with such finality, it would seem as though she'd never entered it.

She had heard many bemoan that 'life was unfair', but she'd been unable to fully appreciate the saying until now. Life was, indeed, bloody unfair! Why had she fallen pregnant, and why for a man such as Lucius Malfoy? Why had all the events that had occurred led to her meeting him lying by the bottom of the hill? Why had she saved him? Why had she slept with him? Why had she come to love him?

_And he did not love her…_

Tears threatened and she blinked them away furiously. Crying solved nothing. If a few shed tears could eliminate pregnancies and turn back the hands of time, then the world would have been awash with salty eye-water.

She was not going to cry. She was going to face life head on. This new development was serving to make her more determined to help Lucius conquer Voldemort. If she was going to keep this child, she wanted him or her living and growing up in a beautiful, happy world; not one being reigned over by a wicked, discriminating overlord.

And, she was not going to tell Lucius Malfoy that she was pregnant. Never.

* * *

"I took the liberty of purchasing you wands," announced Maria as she handed them each identical, thin, plain-looking wands. "They're not Ollivander's finest. Just standard strips of wood that can perform basic magic and maybe a few complex spells with proper determination."

Then she produced two flasks and handed them over as well. "Also, Lucius, at your request, I was able to locate some pre-made Polyjuice potion. Luckily enough, I came across a couple of tourists. Muggle couple. I managed to grab a few of their hairs."

The image of Maria Carlow, yanking on the hair of two unsuspecting people then running away was very funny to Hermione. She could not resist chuckling at the image. Still though, she could not help but admire the woman's forethought and efficiency. A woman after her own heart…if she'd been so inclined.

"And, finally, the most important of the lot," Maria continued as she presented an old leather belt. "The Port Key. Bugger made quite a racket, didn't it?"

Indeed, it had. Very early that morning, midway through her fitful, worry-wracked sleep, she'd heard a loud, long beep that had jolted her awake immediately. Instantly alert with fear, she sat staring wildly around the tent, wondering whether the Death Eaters had returned, and whether they were attempting to deafen them to death. The pervasive, headache-inducing sound had persisted for ten minutes, during which time all three of them had conducted a search. At last, with an irate exhalation, Lucius' hand had found the offending object, and immediately the sound had disappeared.

Suddenly, a few questions bloomed in Hermione's head. Was imbibing Polyjuice potion safe when one was pregnant? Would it affect the child? Would there be some sort of transference? And what if she assumed the body of a man? Men didn't have wombs! Where would the young life that resided in her go?

She gazed skeptically at the flask in her hand. Evil thoughts encouraged her to down the potion, baby be damned. They tried to convince her that she had no other option. How was she to obscure her identity when she returned to Wizarding Britain? Not to mention that the child was unwanted. Losing it through an honest mistake was hardly worth worrying over…

But it would not be an honest mistake. She would be conscious of her actions, and in her mind, it would be marked as murder of an innocent life.

"Um…do we really need Polyjuice?" she asked apprehensively, her gaze steady on Maria's face. She could not look at Lucius. Ever since she'd learned 'the news', she'd been hard-pressed to maintain eye contact with him. There was the ever present fear that he'd suddenly ambush her mind and learn the dreadful truth.

Even now, she felt his gaze boring holes in the side of her head. "We've no other option. Surely you are aware of this."

But ever observant, Maria immediately understood Hermione's objections. "Hardly, Lucius. There are Glamour charms."

Hermione's belly churned as the same suspicious look from yesterday settled on Lucius' face. So she spoke on to dissuade him from any questioning thoughts.

"I just can't abide the taste of Polyjuice. And, a few years ago, I had an especially awful experience of being changed into a half-cat when I mistook my cat's hair for someone else's." She smiled weakly.

Lucius released an impatient sigh. "Do as you wish. And make haste. My patience is running thin. Give me the hairs, Maria."

Whilst Lucius decided to take the Polyjuice potion, Maria cast a strong Glamour charm over Hermione. When this was finished, they assembled over the leather belt, Hermione gripping the tail end as Lucius held the buckle.

"It was good to see you again, Lucius," said Maria. Then, with a cheeky smile, she continued, "Next time, visit me a little sooner."

She lifted herself to kiss him on the cheek, and then she patted him there affectionately. Turning to Hermione, she enveloped her into a hug.

"And it was nice meeting you, Hermione," declared Maria, much to Lucius' surprise. "Don't go risking your neck for this prat again, my dear. He doesn't deserve you."

Hermione blushed furiously as her eyes connected with Lucius'. He was staring right back at her with his usual intensity, despite the soft hazel his eyes had become from his transformation.

And as Maria released Hermione from the hug, she kissed Hermione's cheek as well, and then whispered in her ear. "He doesn't deserve you, but he wants to."

* * *

With a shout of, "Portus!" Hermione felt the familiar hook in her navel, and her nausea was tripled in its intensity. When the Port Key finally shoved them out of the warp and onto solid ground, Hermione just could not hold herself back. She immediately threw up.

Moments later, mortified that Lucius had seen her in such a state, she Scourgified her mess. Summoning a glass of water, she rinsed her mouth free of the acrid taste that remained. Then, with Lucius' assistance, she rose shakily to her feet. She was afraid to look at him, so she cast her eyes about her surroundings with wonder. They were in a dark, dank alley that reeked of stale urine and garbage.

With his hand pressed firmly but gently against the small of her back, Lucius led her out of the unknown alley, and onto the main street. Recognition came to her, and she gasped in delighted surprise.

They were in Diagon Alley.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Although Diagon Alley looked the same, there was a marked difference from the last time she'd seen it. She remembered, vividly, the area bustling with activity, heavily populated by excited, young girls and boys bouncing from window to window, and their unenthusiastic parents struggling to keep up. She also recalled the liveliness of Diagon Alley; the hollering of street merchants, the boisterous laughter of men, the semi-sternness of mothers warning their children to keep close, the constant gaiety that had brought Hermione such wonder when she'd first witnessed it.

However, the Diagon Alley she reminisced on did not resemble the one she currently viewed. The streets no longer teemed with people. Instead, there was a smattering of figure quietly and sombrely going about their business. Gone was the energetic air to be replaced by a heavy, lethargic atmosphere. The easy congeniality even between strangers had disappeared, and in its place was bowed heads, hunched shoulders and gazes that only made contact with the floor.

Hermione frowned, her embarrassment forgotten. Something was amiss. Following the conquering of Wizarding Britain by Voldemort, many Muggleborns, and even half-bloods, had either been killed, Kissed or sold into slavery. All that had remained were the Purebloods, who'd been heavily supportive of Voldemort's 'clean-up'. She'd kept track of the news, during her one-year hermitic stint, by regularly ambushing newspaper-delivering owls that flew low, and stole her only source of reading material.

If they'd finally managed to rid their precious world of the offending species, why weren't they rejoicing?

Lucius' hands slipped further to the side of her back, his fingers curling over the juncture where her waist met her hip, and his touch practically seared through her dress. She was suddenly aware of her exposed upper arms to the cold in comparison to the heat that flared where Lucius' hands lay. She glanced at him shyly. Presently, his features were that of a mid-30ish, brown-haired fellow with a plain, almost forgettable face. But that did not stop her from immediately recalling his original appearance nor did it stop the ensuing flutter in her belly. Effortlessly, thoughts of Lucius Malfoy filled her mind and shoved all prior wonderings aside.

Of course, her first thought was, _I am carrying Lucius Malfoy's child._

What a predicament of astonishing proportions. And to think she'd been nicknamed 'the brightest witch of her age'. Bright witches didn't fall pregnant for bad men. As a matter of fact, bright witches didn't fall pregnant full stop. They kept their senses about them, even in the face of temptation. Logic and consideration of the consequences ruled their decision-making never-endingly. She wasn't bright! She was dumb as—she paused; blushed—as…err…the word that rhymed with duck!

Regardless, though, of the situation, what was done was done. There was no undoing, just moving ahead. And when she considered it all, becoming pregnant wasn't _that_ awful. At least, in this life of lost and desolation, she had something or someone to look forward to. Maybe this was her second chance to freely love and be loved again. After all, as much as she wished, deep down, that Lucius would return her feelings, she knew better than to expect such an impossibility.

_When this is all over, we'll put it all behind us and go our separate ways._

That was why she absolutely had to conceal this new development. She feared his rejection and rather they parted on amiable terms. To even consider his acceptance was laughable. Thankfully, Maria must have thought the same for she had not spoken a word to Lucius about the matter.

Then she remembered Maria's parting words: _He doesn't deserve you, but he wants to._

It had puzzled her then and it puzzled her now. Why had Maria said such a thing? What had she meant by 'he wants to'? He wanted to deserve her? That made no sense! As much as she'd silently praised the woman's intellect, Hermione felt she had to subtract points from the 'Intelligence Score Board' for Dr. Maria Carlow. _Honestly_. What a load of claptrap. If she decided to further analyse that statement—which she shouldn't, for her own peace-of-mind—the only conclusion she came to was that Lucius Malfoy lov—

"Harriet, cease your daydreaming. We have much to accomplish this day."

She was brought back to harsh reality at the unfamiliar voice. Turning her head, she found hazel eyes appraising her.

She frowned. "I don't like that name."

"It matters not if you do. It is for your safety," he replied in lofty tones.

Hermione's frown deepened. She could never tolerate Lucius' high-handed ways. No wonder Narcissa's face was always so severe.

"Safety my arse," she replied snidely. Then, in lowered tones, "What's your plan to defeat Voldemort? You've yet to discuss this with me."

"There is nothing to discuss," he said dismissively as he turned and began walking down the street.

Indignant, she marched behind him, whispering angrily. "Don't be ridiculous! You can't expect me to waltz up to Voldemort with you with only a half-decent wand as my only defence."

He didn't respond and it only served to incense her further. The temptation to hit him one upside his head was so strong, it took every ounce of fortitude to stay her hand. Instead, she clenched her fists and did the same with her teeth, folding her anger tightly within herself. He was being unreasonable and unwise, the same adjectives he'd lobbed at her the day she'd awoken after being cursed. How could he not discuss his plans with her? What did he intend to do? How could he expect her to follow him blindly to a possible doom without even a rudimentary blueprint to draw on?

Besides, didn't he remember she was pregnant?

_No, of course he wouldn't, silly. He doesn't even know!_

Sadistically, she considered telling him the truth just to get a rise out of him. Inwardly, gleefully, she imagined his gobsmacked look and his uncharacteristic spluttering as he tried to wrap his head around fathering a—dramatic gasp— _half blood._ But self-preservation was key. She knew that the moment he'd recovered from the shock, he'd be immensely furious. Probably furious enough to spell her and her unborn dirty-blooded baby out of existence with an immediate and well-aimed Avada Kedavra.

* * *

Oblivious to Hermione's sullen thoughts, Lucius continued forwards, his feet carrying him along the familiar road that would lead him to Knockturn Alley. His eyes sharp, he surveyed his surroundings carefully, trying to identify any inhibiting factors, namely: Death Eaters. He was purposefully ignoring the girl. He did not want his concentration divided, but it did not mean he wasn't mindful of her.

As much as Hermione filled half of his mind, the other half was preoccupied with thoughts of Draco and whether he was still alive. He worried whether Voldemort had killed his son in revenge for destroying Nagini, because Voldemort's silence and inaction after he'd done so was disturbing. His anger simmering, he hoped that that revolting creature hadn't _dared_ lay a finger on his son.

Lucius smiled bitterly to himself. Maybe he had lied to Maria. He didn't just care deeply for his son. He loved the boy, ferociously, protectively. Draco was his own flesh and blood, and the only good remaining thing in his life that he could call his own. But to have admitted this to Maria had seemed like admitting to her main accusation: that he loved Hermione Granger. He had had to save face. Even if it meant diluting the appearance of his relationship with Draco.

Love Hermione Granger? What a preposterous idea! She was a rude, headstrong, irritating, disobedient, foul-mouthed, crass, uncontrollable, ornery _girl_ borne from a dishonourable provenance. How could he love such a creature? Even if he dismissed her unfavourable qualities, there was still that aspect of her ignoble bloodline. He was a compromising man by nature. He was Slytherin, after all. But there were just some concessions that couldn't be made, and some lines that couldn't be crossed.

 _Oh, you crossed that line a long time ago when you touched her, Lucius,_ mocked an inner voice suspiciously akin to Maria's.

Scowling, he angled left, off of the main road of Diagon Alley, and through the dark alleyway that led directly into Knockturn Alley. Following closely behind him, the girl grumbled something indistinguishably, but he clearly heard the last bit when she said, "Stupid hardheaded prick."

Exactly. Her mouth was far too dirty for his tastes. It just reaffirmed what he thought of her. Besides, if he truly was capable of love for a woman, what was there to love about Hermione Granger?

Arriving at his intended destination, he banished unnecessary thoughts to the far recesses of his brain as he concentrated on the darkened shop window before him. Indeed, there was much to be accomplished this day.

* * *

Borgin and Burke's, despite the vast changes in Diagon Alley, had still retained its ominous, unsavory vibe. The shop display window was matted with a thick accumulation of dust, obscuring the shop's contents, and the building was in need of a repaint. Hermione shuddered, remembering the last time she'd been within the shop, amongst the human bones and the jars of murky _things_ she'd rather not discover what they were. She did not want to go in there, but Lucius had paused before the shop.

However, before entering, he turned to her and said quietly, "Things are about to become very nasty, my dear. I would prefer you resist your characteristic histrionics."

Her eyes widened with alarm and a little bit of excitement. What was going to happen? Was he going to kill Borgin? Then her excitement dissipated momentarily. She did not condone murder; she did not want him delivering such a fate to the oily-headed shopkeeper. Then, she remembered Borgin's cooperation in the demise of the Light, and vengeance reared its head. Maybe his death wasn't such a bad thing. After all, nobody mourned crushed cockroaches.

On high alert, she followed closely behind Lucius as he entered the shop and made his way to the back of the room. She took no notice of the multitude of unidentified objects swirling in jars of various sizes. As they neared closer, Borgin came into view. He was standing behind his desk, his head bent as he scribbled away at something. When Lucius was stood before him, Borgin raised his head, a sycophantic smile already affixed to his face.

"How can I help you sir?" Borgin queried in obsequious politeness.

The man really had not changed, Hermione thought angrily. Wait, no, as a matter of fact, he _had_. He looked…healthier; happier. As if all had been corrected in his life. Maybe business was booming. After all, with the elimination of the right-minded people, and the celebration of the dark, nobody was constantly on his tail, raiding his shop, upsetting his business. Life was good. Anger bubbled in Hermione. She longed to hex the disgusting smile off his face.

"I'd like a few of your… _perfumes_ ," Lucius enunciated carefully and silkily.

"Ah," nodded Borgin with a knowing look. "I can certainly help you with your request," and he made his way to his storeroom.

When he returned, he held a black, non-descript box in his hands. He placed it on the counter before Lucius. Very curious, she removed herself from the shadows to come closer to inspect the contents of the box, ignoring Borgin's slightly surprised look at seeing her. Within the box were a variety of ten palm-sized glass bottles. Each bottle contained a coloured, luminous, misty liquid that seemed to entrance her. She began to smell a lovely scent; it called her…it beckoned her to touch…

Lucius swatted her reaching hand away. She blinked away the fogginess from her mind, surprised by the strength of the unknown potion that lurked within those tiny bottles. Borgin was smiling at her, the action not reaching his black, watery eyes at all.

"Newly brewed and imported from Romania," said Borgin smoothly. "Of the finest quality. Extraordinarily compelling, as you've witnessed," his gaze flickered in Hermione's direction, "and deadly on the first inhale."

With a sharp nod, Lucius said, "Satisfactory. How much?"

"For the entire box?" Here Borgin's eyebrows lifted, then immediately settled with gleeful greed when Lucius nodded. "Why sir, that would be very expensive, indeed. Four hundred galleons, sir, at the least."

Lucius nodded again.

"And how shall you be paying, sir?" queried Borgin as he made his way to the register.

"Charge it to the account of Lucius Malfoy," answered Lucius easily as he lifted his wand and pointed it at the shopkeeper. Hermione gasped and Borgin froze, his smile vanishing just before Lucius continued simply, with a flick of his wrist, "Avada Kedavra."

The thud of Borgin's dead body falling to the floor startled Hermione out of her shocked stupor. She swung her gaze in Lucius' direction at the same time he grabbed her arm and enclosed her into a tight hug. With the black box pressed uncomfortably into her back, and her breasts squashed against Lucius' chest, she felt the hard constriction of Apparition.

* * *

_Home._

This was Lucius' first thought as he was deposited from Apparition just outside the wrought-iron gates of his manor. Staring up the pathway that led to the stately estate, he took a small moment to admire the familiarity of the grand building and its magnificent lawn. It seemed that in his absence, his house had still been taken cared of. Then he sneered at the thought. It was time to reclaim what was rightfully his, and he only had a small window of opportunity to do so.

He released the girl. She looked terrified, and rightly so. They were leading up to the climax of their adventure, and would be soon face to face with their mutual enemy. He wondered if she was frightened of him because he'd murdered Borgin or whether she was afraid of the prospect of meeting Voldemort. However, she was twisting her head to stare wide-eyed at his manor, her fist clutching the material at her stomach. _Not frightened of me, then._

As with the cave, he did not want her following him into the manor. He'd nearly lost her once, and he didn't want to live through that experience again. Merlin, to think he'd become so… _soft_. He was a strong, proud man, but to be crippled so easily by this slip of a girl was rather embarrassing. Love Hermione Granger? Good God, wasn't it mere moments ago he'd been justifying to himself why he could not? She was too wrong for him…far too wrong.

But she made things feel…right. She made him feel _good_.

He didn't want her following him, but all the same he needed her. He was one many against many. A fantastic duellist he was, an idiotic sacrificial lamb he was not. Whenever his back was turned, she would be his eyes, and vice versa. She was smart, he knew this. He believed she was more than capable.

However, this was no time for dawdling. No doubt Voldemort was aware of his Apparition. That was why he had to move quickly. So he gripped the gate, closed his eyes and felt the undercurrent of the magical protection covering the entire estate. The Malfoy Manor was a prime piece of property that respected only the eldest living Malfoy's authority. Voldemort would not have been able to change the charms. So, magically, Lucius removed the protective charms and opened up the gate.

* * *

"These are extraordinarily toxic," Lucius was saying as they marched up the pathway to Malfoy Manor. "Cast a Bubble-Head charm on yourself the moment I select a bottle."

She nodded frantically. Everything was happening much too quickly. One moment she was lounging in the Caribbean, enjoying the sunshine, the next she was in cold Britain, on her way to defeat Voldemort. Correction: _Attempt_ to defeat Voldemort.

Great doubt consumed her. Voldemort was an extremely powerful wizard with legions of henchmen at his service. What could two do against many, many men plus an evil overlord? The situation, in her mind, seemed like a hopeless cause. They would be dead within moments, but it surprised her that her morbid thoughts did not decrease her hurried footsteps.

The only hope that carried her, however, was that Voldemort's power had diminished seven-fold. All of his Horcruxes had been eliminated. He was now a mere mortal, just as any other amongst him. With this thought, her morale was raised slightly. There was a chance that they could win this fight. There was a chance that that demonic bastard would perish at the hands of either of them, preferably hers. There was a chance. And she could not know unless she tried.

She did not know Lucius' battle-plan, but as he led, she would follow.

 _When have I become so trustful of Lucius Malfoy?_ She thought fleetingly just before a curse barely missed her by centimeters.

She looked up in time to find four men standing at the majestic mahogany front doors, wands lifted and pointed at her and Lucius. All four men fired, and with a hard, horizontal slice, Hermione shielded them both with a Protego charm. The curses rebounded, effectively injuring two of the men, and angering the remaining two to elevated attacks.

"Now," was Lucius' sharp and final warning as he cast the Bubble-Head charm on himself and opened the box.

Hermione had barely finished successfully casting the charm on herself—having forgotten the incantation—when Lucius took one of the tiny glass bottle and flung it at the two men. With a tinkling of broken glass, the contents of the bottle exploded in a profusion of lavender smoke. The two men, who had scrabbled out of the way of the thrown bottle, had not escaped fast enough. The vapour caught up to them, choking them, killing them, and three other men who'd rushed out of the manor for action, as well.

Despite the charm, Lucius advised she held her breath as they passed through the poisonous gas and entered the manor. The entrance parlour was empty, but not for long. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, three more Death Eaters—more recognizable than the first seven—sprang before them, wands at the ready.

Antonin Dolohov, Theodore Nott…and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Hermione went still, her wand hand rigid, as she stared at Bellatrix Lestrange. She thought she'd rather prefer seeing Voldemort himself, revitalised with all seven Horcruxes, than the widowed Mrs. Lestrange. The woman was insane. She'd witnessed—and felt—this firsthand. Bellatrix's malevolence rivaled that of Voldemort's, and she did not want to be on the front end of Bellatrix's wand. Not only because she feared the immense pain of the Cruciatus curse, but also because she was…pregnant.

Merlin, what a dreadful predicament.

"Welcome home, Lucius," began Antonin Dolohov with a smile. "It is a shame that you have not returned with amiable intentions."

"I can hardly be congenial when my son and my home are being held hostage, Dolohov."

Antonin Dolohov's sharp grey eyes found Hermione's. "And who is this lovely young woman? I see you've been _very_ busy, Lucius."

"I smell the scent of a nasty Mudblood!" shouted Bellatrix, unable to keep quiet any longer. "Filthy, disgusting Mudblood!" Then without warning, she lifted her wand, pointing it at Hermione and screamed, "Crucio!"

All hell broke loose the moment Hermione regained her frozen senses and skittered out of the way of Bellatrix's curse. Fury rose and blinded her. This evil woman. This…this… _bitch_ , was one of the main sources of her unhappiness. It was due to her rabid support that had fueled the demise of the Wizarding world. It was people like her, narrow-minded and judgmental, that needed to be eliminated from the world. It was wicked, acrimonious people like Bellatrix Lestrange—a taint on the earth—that needed to be gone.

Curses and jinxes and shields were thrown every which way. Lucius threw two of the glass bottles, but the three Death Eaters had grown wise and had cast a protective charm about their heads as well. They fought savagely, Hermione against Bellatrix, and Lucius against both Antonin Dolohov and the ever silent Theodore Nott. No-one backed down until a clear, deadly voice rang out amidst the fighting.

"Cease now!"

Wands lifted were paused, curses about to be uttered died on lips, and all heads turned to meet the owner of the voice who'd made the command.

And when Hermione turned and found the source, her heart plummeted. The tide had turned massively against them for there stood Voldemort, his semi-noseless face still gaunt and sickly, and his pale hand clutching a wand that was shoved against the nervously bobbing Adam's apple of Draco Malfoy's throat.

Red eyes agleam with malevolent glee, Voldemort said, "Now, Lucius. Be a good boy and surrender yourself."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Because Hermione could not think clearly, due to fright, she had no other way to explain her present situation without the help of an apt Americanism she'd learnt many years ago:

They were screwed.

Screwed tighter than a screw screwed by a screw-driver.

There wasn't any other appropriate definition to describe her wrists and ankles being bound magically whilst being held captive in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor. How else could she express her terror of Bellatrix Lestrange, just outside her cell and mere feet away, sneering at her? Where could she find a proper enough idiom that conveyed her despair as effectively as those former, simpler three words?

_We are screwed._

She began to shiver, and not only from the cold. It was not death that she feared, but the moments before it. Voldemort and his minions' capacity for torture were extraordinarily high. They relished pain, especially when delivering it to others. It was no wonder that the Cruciatus curse, painful to begin with, was so horribly excruciating when meted out by their hands. She fully understood how Neville's parents could have been driven insane.

To think she was imprisoned in the Malfoy Manor again. My, wasn't she breaking records for herself! However, this time, she did not have Harry and Ron worrying for her and concocting plans of escape. She was not allowed to hope for members of the Order to be on their way to rescue her. Nobody was out there caring whether she lived or died. She only had herself…and her unborn baby.

And, _maybe_ , Lucius…

Could she depend on him? She really wondered. Lucius Malfoy was Slytherin, and Slytherins, by nature, would use anything and anyone to get what they wanted. And what Lucius Malfoy wanted most of all was his son. He was an unscrupulous man. What if, to satisfy partial doubts after he'd glibly explained his abandonment, he was ordered to prove himself worthy enough to reenter their ranks? What if the order was to murder or torture her? She wasn't foolish. Her Glamour Charm was slowly wearing away. In no time, they'd discover who she was, and would be chomping at the bit to kill her.

_But if they ordered him to do so, would he? If they told him he'd get his son back, would he finish me off without a thought?_

The thought was unbearable. To suffer such betrayal was like being attacked by ten Sectumsempra curses, all of them issued by Snape's hand.

She dared to look his way and found him staring ahead with a bored look on his face. However, the minute tick at his jaw and his tightly clenched fists were an easy giveaway to the rage boiling within him. It had been an hour—or so it felt—since their forced forfeiting of the fight, and since then, the Polyjuice potion had worn off. He had returned to the blond-haired, grey-eyed, remarkably handsome Malfoy senior she knew. And, by the looks of it, he was extremely pissed-off.

Then, to her surprise, a smile graced his face.

"Bella, my dear, forgive me for not inquiring earlier," began Lucius, "but how are things keeping with you?"

Hermione stared at Lucius as if he'd just upped and lost all his marbles.

"Shut it, you traitor!" screamed Bellatrix, spittle flying as she clutched the bars with such strength, Hermione truly believed they'd snap. "You nasty, treacherous worm! The Dark Lord will punish you for your transgressions!"

Even in the face of doom, Hermione could not resist herself. "Wow, sounds like God, doesn't he? 'Punish you for your transgressions'."

A flutter rose in her belly when Lucius turned his smile on her.

"And you!" Bellatrix rattled the cell in her rage. "You insolent Mudblood bitch! I smell the filthiness of your blood!"

"Woof!" teased Hermione, semi-hysteria rising within her as she chortled. "Here doggie, doggie!"

"Come now, darling," rejoined Lucius. "Our hands are tied. Even if she comes, we're unable to give her a good scratch behind the ear for a job well done."

Hermione threw back her head and laughed. It was the sweetest joke she'd heard in her lifetime despite its simplicity. She supposed it was the nature of the situation she'd found herself in. They were in Death's palm with no means of escaping. Their wands had been confiscated, and their hands and feet were rendered useless. They were like sitting ducks just waiting to be chosen and roasted.

"Crucio!" Bellatrix screamed. A blast ejected from Bellatrix's wand, heading straight for Hermione, but it did not hit its intended target. Instead, Lucius muscled her out of the way with his shoulder. The curse struck him with such force it threw his body hard against the cell wall. Hermione cried out in alarm as she watched Lucius' body began to shake violently, as his back arched to an uncomfortable anger from the pain, and as he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from screaming.

"Stop! Stop it, Bellatrix!" Hermione screamed at the crazed woman as she tried to still Lucius' thrashing body. "Stop it!"

"Oooh!" cackled Bellatrix as she cast the curse on Lucius again. "Is he your lover, Mudblood? Do you _love_ him? Well, enjoy your lover's suffering!"

Hermione was on the verge of tears. She'd never considered herself an easy crier, but in this instance, she was on the precarious edge of opening the floodgates. She felt her skin crawling with horror at sight being played out before; her heart was splintering into pieces as she watched Lucius quiver and gasp, but refused to cry out.

"Bellatrix, heed the girl's words. I need to speak with Lucius."

Hermione whipped her head around, her heart climbing in her throat at the sound of the sinister voice. There stood Voldemort, his shiny red eyes glaring into the cell, and Severus Snape standing just behind him.

_Snape!_

How had she forgotten about him? He'd been the one who'd cursed her in the first place! The traitorous bastard. Cowardly as ever, he'd managed to stay alive whilst the other Order members had perished. He'd convinced the Dark Lord of true obedience, sparing his worthless, spineless life. And he'd cursed her. She'd nearly died tried saving Lucius, and he'd nearly killed her baby too.

In that moment, she forgot about Voldemort and focused her glare on her former Potions professor. He was still sallow-faced and oily-headed, his curtain of hair still long and unkempt. The large beak he called a nose was still prominent on his face, and his thin lips were set into a permanent curl of displeasure. To think she'd once fancied this man. His ingenuity and blatant disregard for societal opinions had intrigued and impressed her, but now she realised he'd utilised these same aspects to further his own life-span.

Bellatrix ceased her torturing immediately and began prostrating before Voldemort like the dog she was. Without so much as a glance of acknowledgement, Voldemort shoved her away with his feet as he unlocked the cell magically and entered it. Aware that Lucius was trying to raise himself, Hermione began reaching for him to assist when a whip slapped painfully against her forearm. She cried out from the surprise and the sting of the whip, and she looked up to find Voldemort's wand extended in her direction.

"Do not touch him, filth."

Their gazes locked, and belatedly, Hermione realised it was her greatest mistake. Without warning, Voldemort invaded her mind, easily breaking through her hastily erected walls. Her identity was instantly revealed to him, her terror for him was made known, her plans for revenge bared to his greedy red eyes. Then he began to delve deeper, and no matter how she struggled, she could not eject his pervasive presence as he learnt of her first meeting with Lucius, their journey together, their intimate encounters, her feelings…her pregnancy…

And when his intrusion was over, she covered her face from Voldemort's twisted smile and truly began to cry, because she knew that all was over.

* * *

Lucius stared at the girl, momentarily forgetting his searing bones and prickling skin. Why was she crying? He'd been so absorbed in steadying his racing heart and regaining his sanity that awareness had evaded him for a while after Bellatrix had stopped cursing him. He wondered if they'd cursed the girl in his brief lapse. But she didn't appear to be harmed in any way. Then he looked up and found Voldemort staring coldly down at him.

Ah, what a dilemma. He had not entirely envisioned such a situation. Granted, he had harboured the possibility of failing, but not to be recaptured and held in his own cell once more. They'd used his son as a bargaining chip against him. As much as he'd been relieved to see the boy unharmed, he was tremendously furious with the outcome of his attempt. He was no romantic. He hadn't expected an easy fight of it, but to be conquered so swiftly was frustrating.

And now, here they were. Confined to his manor's dungeon which, a long time ago, had been used as holding cells for Muggleborns. Too much death had occurred here; these walls had witnessed the worst kind of suffering known to man.

And the girl was crying. Soft little hiccups that sounded loud in the still room. His gaze flickered to her bent head then back to his erstwhile master who was giving him a calculating look. Behind the red-eyed dark wizard stood Severus Snape appraising the proceedings with a bored look, and Bellatrix practically panting in her fanaticism.

"Lucius, I confess myself extremely disappointed," began Voldemort.

"In life, one must be prepared for such occurrences," Lucius answered lightly, and his smart retort awarded him with an instantaneous and painful Cruciatus curse.

"I abhor disappointments, Lucius. Especially large ones," Voldemort continued. "And this is, indeed, an overwhelmingly disappointing experience."

Lucius breathed heavily, the wave of pain like a tsunami to his body. He dared not utter another word for he knew an additional cursing on the heels of the last one would obliterate his consciousness.

"A Mudblood, Lucius?" asked Voldemort. "You abandoned your son and your allegiance to me all for Potter's dirty Mudblood whore?"

Lucius kept silent. Grey eyes meeting red ones.

"Your sullied your late wife's memory to have laid with this abomination. You disregarded all right-mindedness and fathered another taint to our perfect world."

This gave Lucius pause. He blinked twice, wondering if he'd misheard the last few words of Voldemort's lecture. Lucius thought that the man couldn't possibly be suggesting that—

"Oh yes, Lucius," hissed Voldemort. Raising his wand, Voldemort pointed it at the sobbing girl, and Lucius watched as she was forced to lift her head and pivot it on her neck to face him. She struggled against Voldemort's control but it was futile. She was forced to look at him, and he was forced to do the same in paralysed and unbelieving shock. "Even now your seed grows within her unclean womb. And she knows this."

"Traitor!" screamed Bellatrix as she pointed at Lucius. "You are vermin, Lucius! Vermin! So is your deformed seed in that filthy Mudblood's belly!"

Fresh tears coursed down the girl's already wet cheeks. She'd closed her eyes, unwilling to completely face him. Merlin, she was…with child. With _his_ child. How was that possible? When had this occurred? When had she learnt of this? All of his questions were answered by a series of images beginning from the night he'd first touched her, and it culminated with the memory of him entering the tent to find her and Maria giving him dumbfounded looks.

"And my disappointment grows ever more," continued Voldemort, his head cocked to the side as he surveyed Lucius. "For here are you, with intentions to murder me. _Murder me!_ " The dark wizard laughed. "How foolish. Not even Potter, destined to be my conqueror, had achieved that goal.

But do you know what, Lucius?" he went on, twirling his wand in his hands. "In the year since the War, I admit I have found myself utterly and terribly bored. I am in need of amusement, and you and this repugnant creature shall do just fine. So how about a duel, Lucius? Should you win, you will regain your son and your manor, but should you lose…well, you'll find out the consequences in due time."

And leaving no room for denial, Voldemort, casting one more disgusted sneer in Hermione's direction, turned on his heel and walked out of the cell.

* * *

The ensuing quiet seemed to press and squeeze Hermione from all sides. Her head pounded from crying, and her nose was uncomfortable stuffy. With her head bent, she stared morosely at her lap, not even daring to look anywhere else. She felt Lucius' heavy, unmoving gaze but she ignored him. To face him was the last thing on earth she wanted to do. Even though it was his fate to do so, she felt like looking up at Lucius Malfoy was like battling Voldemort herself.

What a nightmare turned reality. She'd fallen in love with and fallen pregnant for Lucius Malfoy, and she was being held hostage by the evilest wizard known to wizardfolk. Although her fate was somewhat uncertain, she knew, with a surety, that if Lucius lost, she was a dead woman. Currently, her life's destiny was to be decided by a man who'd completely upset it in the first place.

_But what if he wins?_

She hadn't looked at Lucius much after Bellatrix had relented from cursing him. But she knew that the Cruciatus curse's aftereffects tended to linger for hours later. No doubt he was weak and barely mentally stable. So what a double-whammy it was for the poor man to learn he was about to be a father…again.

"Look at me."

She stiffened. Her head dipped lower; her chin touched her neck.

"Look at me!" he demanded.

"I-I can't,"

"You can and you will. Now, look at me."

Slowly, her heartbeat picking up pace, she raised her head in his general direction but her eyes wandered every which way, refusing to focus on his face.

"Are you…?" he faltered, swallowed. "Is it true?"

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"How long have you known?"

"Only a day."

"Why hadn't you made me aware of this?"

"Because I was digesting the knowledge myself," she replied then bravely met his intense stare. "Besides, I wasn't going to tell you."

"I see," was his quiet response before he looked away from her.

She did not know what to make of his reaction to the news. Was he surprised? That was a given. But was it a pleasant surprise or a horrible one? He was not smiling nor was he frowning. He didn't look troubled yet he didn't look happy. His features were just…plain. Plain was an unusual adjective to describe a man like Lucius Malfoy, but it was the only appropriate one she could think of now. His face was plain.

So what was to happen next? And did it even matter? Her defeatist attitude was uncommon but their circumstance did feel hopeless. He was going to die, she was going to die, and Draco was going to die. They all were going to be dead! No bloody question about that! Because even if, in the minuscule chance that Lucius _did_ win Voldemort, how were they going to face the likes of Severus Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Theodore Nott, and the other assembled—and powerful—Death Eaters? _How?_

A very long time later, hours later, perhaps, Hermione was startled out of her light doze by the clang of steel against steel. Eyes widening with immediate alertness, she found a tall, imposing, pale-skinned figure hovering over her. Reflexively, she curled into herself and away from the being that was Severus Snape.

"Hello, Miss Granger," he greeted casually, and suspicion bloomed within her. Severus Snape never spoke casually, in her experience.

"What do you want?" she asked snidely.

"Many things," he replied quietly. "However, absolution would be sufficient."

She frowned, unable to look away from the man's glittering obsidian eyes. "What do you—"

"More than sufficient," interrupted Lucius. "'War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise, and, fighting for our freedom, we are free.'"

Snape nodded, a small smile playing about his mouth as he withdrew a blade from his coat pocket. "Sassoon. Excellent. I would have hexed you had you quoted some fancified, hyped-up Shakespearean hogwash."

Lucius laughed, but Hermione saw nothing funny about the situation. Severus Snape was coming nearer, the blade glinting malicious even though there was little light in the cell. Fearfully, she looked at Lucius and found him watching her. What was going on? What was Snape going to do to her with that blade? And did Lucius know of the man's intentions, and was just sitting idly by?

She tried scooting away but nearly toppled over on her side due to her bound hands and feet. Severus was still advancing on her. Was he going to cut her up manually now? Hadn't his Sectumsempra curse been enough?

"W-what are you doing?" she stammered in fear. "Why are you going to hurt me? Haven't you done enough?"

"You silly girl," responded Snape harshly. "I haven't time to waste with you. Just take the blade and be done with your dramatics."

Snape gripped the back of the blade and pointed the handle for her to grab. She stared confusedly between the sharp object and the man holding it. Then at his insistent shove, she grabbed the hilt of the blade. It was a thin, sharp, deadly-looking knife, and about seven inches long and one inch wide. The blade itself was shiny, glinting ever so often, and she realised that it was charmed. But to do what, she didn't know.

She looked up at Snape; she felt so very confused. Why was he giving her a knife? What was the purpose of it? Did he intend for her to harm herself with it or harm someone else? Him? Lucius?

She looked at Lucius again and he was still staring at her. They both were.

"What—" she began but Snape interrupted her.

"Absolution, Miss Granger. Absolution."

* * *

Not too long after Snape's mysterious visit, he returned once more, but with Bellatrix Lestrange in tow. The woman's face was alight with sick excitement as she surveyed both Lucius and Hermione in the cell. In chirpy tones, she announced that she'd been given the honour to deliver the both of them to their deserved demise. She then took the liberty to curse Lucius again, and while he was recovering, she attempted to curse Hermione as well but Snape prevented her from doing so.

They took Lucius but they did not take her. She was left alone in the cell to agonise over Lucius and the duel that was to come. During his first visit, Snape had caustically explained to her the reason why she was still alive today, and the truth of it all had dumbfounded her. Severus Snape had not only saved her from his own Sectumsempra curse, but he had also been the one to save her from the War.

She had wanted to disbelieve him, wanted to have a particular person to blame wholeheartedly for Harry's death. But how could she do so when she'd learnt that he'd been the one protecting her the past year. That he'd been the one providing the food she had regularly found. That he'd been the one cloaking her hut with his protective charm. That if it weren't for him, Death Eaters would have found her measly hut ages ago.

But why? She'd asked. Why had he gone out of his way to do it all? Hadn't he hated her and Harry and Ron? Why sacrifice himself when he needn't have done so? And he'd simply responded with a quiet, "Absolution."

Absolution? Forgiveness? Freedom? What did he want? Did he want both? If so, why her? He'd been Voldemort's right hand man ever since Lucius' desertion. He'd had ample time to 'absolve' himself of all Death Eater responsibility. So why saddle her with it? She was smart enough to realise that Snape had given her the knife to murder Voldemort. And why had Lucius been in accordance of this plan when he'd been originally raring to spill Voldemort's blood himself?

And how was she to achieve such an impossible feat? When would she ever be near enough Voldemort? Not to mention, her hands and feet were bound and they'd left her in the cell!

Huffing in frustration, she lifted her hands to rub her aching temples. She had enough troubles already being pregnant, so why must she be commissioned with such a task?

And as she rubbed her forehead, she slowly realised that her hands had been freed.

Gasping, she stared at her freed wrists, then looked down and found her ankles were unshackled as well. Somehow, the binding magic had dissipated. Had Snape been the cause of this? No doubt he had a hand in it. And how had she not noticed this sooner? How did Severus Snape manage to get away with these things under the ever watchful eye of Voldemort?

Shakily, she rose to her feet, the coolness of the blade pressing against her flesh where she'd hid it in her dress. Okay, so her hands and feet were free, but what use was that if the cell was locked. She was sure she'd seen Snape re-lock it.

Quietly, she walked up to the cell's gate and found it was locked, indeed. Scowling, she mentally derided Snape's intelligence, calling him various forms of 'idiot' in her head. Why would he rid her of the binds yet still keep her hostage? What sense did that make?

Bending, she eyed the keyhole. It was one of those old-fashioned locks that utilised long, bony keys to open it. Rising, she pulled at the gate, but it did not budge. Honestly! How useless! What was she or the knife if she couldn't get out of the cell in the first place?

_The knife!_

Quickly, she shook the knife from the confines of her dress, and before it could even fall to the floor, she grabbed the hilt. Jimmying the tip of the blade into the keyhole, she watched with pleasant surprise as the knife morphed itself into the appropriately sized key. With a twist of her wrist, she unlocked the gate, and stepped uncertainly out into the dark hallway.

To her right, the hallway ended abruptly by a thick slab of concrete, so retrieving the key, which returned to its original shape, she headed off to her left.

* * *

As Bellatrix and Snape marched him onwards to where Voldemort waited, Lucius mind was consumed with the girl and what he'd learnt. The discovery was amazing, more so because, instead of feeling horrified of the knowledge that he'd impregnated the Muggleborn girl, he felt…satisfied.

That wasn't to say he'd been on an agenda to get her pregnant. Of course not! His sole aim had been to rescue his son and defeat Voldemort. It just so happened she'd factored into his life's equation, muddling up the sequence of things, and possibly changing the end result. Instead of being a father of one, he was a soon-to-be father of two. And, for some very, very absurd reason, he liked it.

He liked knowing that within Hermione Granger, there was a bit of him growing there. His possessive streak told him that it ensured she would forever be his.

It was a shame, though, that their futures were so uncertain. He wasn't even sure that either of them was going to live to see the dawning of tomorrow. His plans for revenge had backfired, and they were currently flying blindly ahead. What if he lost this duel? There was a great possibility that he would. Bellatrix's curse had diminished his strength a great deal. A ploy, no doubt, to pitch the fight in Voldemort's favour. She had always been a cheat.

Nevertheless, what if he won? What then? What would he tell Draco, his son, the boy he'd preached severely to about Pureblood ideologies? The boy would despise him…if he hadn't already. Because of his father's bad choices, Draco had suffered such a terrible fate already. So how was he, Lucius Malfoy, to explain to his son that he'd made possibly the worst decision of all: to have fallen in love with a Muggleborn witch.

Love. The word really had such a distasteful ring to it. However, there were no other suitable words to describe his 'feelings' for Hermione Granger. Oh, how he'd denied the notion. How he'd fought so hard against it. He'd pronounced her unlovable and had convinced himself that her bad qualities were insurmountable. He'd dismissed Maria's accusations so swiftly because she'd spoken aloud what he couldn't come to say himself.

But it did not matter. He may want and need Hermione Granger, but did she want and need him as well?

"Welcome, Lucius," spoke Voldemort, interrupting Lucius' thoughts. "Let us begin."

* * *

As Hermione walked, she darted her gaze about the dark hallway with trepidation, expecting a Death Eater to suddenly spring out of nowhere and recapture her again. Her hands shook, and her headache was a constant thrum of pain. Her queasiness had returned in full force, and she eyed the darker regions of the hallway with longing. Vaguely, she wondered who'd clean the mess if she made it.

Her palms were sweaty and so was her forehead. One thought revolved in her head: what if she botched things? What if the plan failed? Because, really, Voldemort had a wand—a powerful one, too—and she didn't. The other, unconsidered variables were pitched against her favour. She had only a small, as-of-yet unknown window of opportunity to accomplish her task.

Turning onto another hallway, she came along a flight of steps, and from above, she heard the distinguishable sounds of battle. Glasses shattered, concrete crumbled, and wood splintered. She heard a heavy thud, and she jumped where she stood as she heard Bellatrix shriek with laughter. The corners of her mouth turned down, Hermione realised that that heavy thud must have been Lucius' body connecting painfully with the floor.

She was rooted where she stood. The flight of steps looked never-ending. Were all the other Death Eaters in attendance or was it just Bellatrix and Snape. She doubted it was the latter.

"Come now, Lucius!" jeered Voldemort from above. "You can certainly do better than that!"

The noise of things breaking resumed, but it was joined by the occasional thud of Lucius' body landing hard somewhere. Hermione cringed with each sound, wanting to act but fearful to do so.

_Grow some backbone! You are a Gryffindor, Hermione. He's suffering; do something!_

Adrenaline began coursing through her blood. Yes, she was a Gryffindor, foolishly and blindly courageous. She'd thrown herself in Death's lap more than once and had come back to tell the tale.

"Despicable!" cried Voldemort. "I have tired of you, Lucius. It is time I send you to meet your dead wife."

He was going to kill him. Voldemort was going to kill the man she loved, and here she was, knife in hand, too afraid to do anything about it.

"You!" She heard.

Looking behind her, she saw Antonin Dolohov. He looked as though he'd been attacked. There was a deep gash on his right temple and blood flowed freely from the wound. His eyes were wild and his skin had attained a sickly pallor. He was clutching his chest with his right hand, and even now, his other hand was reaching into his trouser pocket to probably grab his wand.

In that moment, Hermione made up her mind. As Antonin Dolohov began running towards her, she took the initiative to run up the stairs as well. In the back of her mind, she heard her mother's stern voice rebuking her to never run with sharp objects.

_Don't run with scissors and knives, dear. You can hurt yourself!_

"Avada…"

As she jumped each stair, she wondered if she'd ever have the opportunity to say such a thing to her child. As she cleared the last step, and turned to survey Voldemort pointing his wand at a kneeling Lucius, she thought she'd like to experience such moments. She thought to herself, as she ran to Voldemort's turned back, that she'd like to experience and savour every single—good or bad—moment of motherhood, and that she'd like to share those moments with Lucius Malfoy. That bad, bad man who'd stolen her heart.

"…Kedav—"

And she thought, as she launched herself onto Voldemort's back, that if she wanted those opportunities, she had to make them possible herself.

* * *

It was one of the most defining moments in Lucius Malfoy's life. The Avenging Angel that was Hermione Granger as, with a wild, animal-like snarl, she ended Lord Voldemort's life with a hard horizontal slicing of the wizard's neck with her seven inch blade. Blood sprayed every which way, but most of it on him, as Voldemort's squeal of pain came out in a sickening, squelching gurgle.

Bellatrix's shriek of immense outrage was cut short by Severus Snape's immediate Avada Kedavra—the same spell that Voldemort had been unable to complete. Antonin Dolohov, who had emerged from the stairway just behind the girl, had collapsed to the floor, clutching his chest on the way down. Judging from his prone form, Lucius believed that Dolohov had kicked the bucket as well. How, Lucius did not know.

Voldemort's body had crumpled to the floor, and the girl had gone down with it. Struggling to extricate herself from the dark wizard's corpse, she raised herself shakily and surveyed her handiwork. Lucius watched her as she looked upon the dead man. He searched her face for regret or sorrow or guilt but there was none. Just a cool appraisal that impressed him. And when she looked up, her gaze met his and she smiled.

"Well done," he said.

She came to him and wiped the blood from his face with the hem of her dress. He was still kneeling, his weight resting heavily on his haunches. His body had suffered so much pain and abuse that every limb was numb and refused to cooperate. He wanted to wrap his arms around her as she knelt before him. He wanted to press her body hard against his to enjoy the reality that they'd both survived. But he hadn't the strength.

And it seemed she felt the same for she looped her arms around his midsection and squeezed him close against her. Without warning, she reached up and pressed her mouth against his in a fierce kiss. Vaguely, he wondered if she was not repulsed by the stench of Voldemort's blood, but it seemed she didn't mind.

And when she'd finally released him, she whispered against his lips,

"Absolution."


	20. Chapter Twenty

In the days that followed Voldemort's defeat, new life had been breathed into Wizarding Britain. Many witches and wizards took to the streets in unbridled jubilation, to Hermione's pleasant surprise, cheering over their sudden release from the wizard's dark hold. If there were any howls of outrage, they were ignored and overridden by the sheer noise of merrymaking.

How they'd learnt of the news, Hermione did not know. She supposed Severus Snape had had a hand to play in it, though. But that was of no consequence to her. What occupied her mind was Wizarding Britain's astonishing response. Because of the systematic annihilation of those of 'unworthy blood', she'd believed that only the Pureblood fanatics like Bellatrix had remained. She had believed that the remaining wizardfolk had been content with their unsullied lifestyle.

Obviously, she'd been wrong. No wonder Diagon Alley had appeared so strange. And how could she have believed that because a family was Pureblood, that they had accepted Voldemort's sweeping and horrific changes? Look at the Weasleys, for instance. They had accepted her kind unquestioningly. Even Arthur Weasley had been enamoured with Muggles and their customs. So, surely, there must have been more Pureblood families who'd felt this way?

Indeed, there had been, judging by their continued revelry. Even as far as she was, secluded in one of the Malfoy Manor's east wing rooms, she could hear party songs and shrieks of laughter and gaiety. Standing at the curtain-less window, she could clearly make out bonfires, and as the sky lighted up with various firework displays. In one instance, someone creatively charmed their firework to read:

HARRY POTTER LIVES! MOLDY VOLDY DIES!

She laughed softly. Such a message was reminiscent of Fred and George Weasley's mischievous antics. In her mind's eye, she could envision their identical grins and twinkling eyes as they teased Harry mercilessly, and Harry's shy, self-aware smile as he ran his hand through his already wild hair, and Ron's broad grin as he hugged Harry around the neck with one arm. A pang of sorrow, nostalgia and regret hit her hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. How she wished Harry, Ron and the others were here. If only they were alive to join along in the celebrations.

So many lives had been lost. Countless lives. And all for what? For one year later, the beast to be felled by a mere throat-slicing by none other than Hermione Granger? What had the whole fanfare a year ago been for? Why the heavy showdown when all it had taken was an element of surprise and good timing? Granted, she would never say that all those who'd died had done so in vain. If it hadn't been for the effort of everyone, she doubted the outcome would have been the same.

But it felt like such a waste. Voldemort was dead, so what now? She had nobody to share her joy. There was nothing for her to look forward to, now that all who'd made her life purposeful were gone. Although, maybe that was not entirely true. She was three weeks pregnant and counting. That, certainly, was a purpose to look forward to. Pretty soon, she was going to be a changed woman; a mother.

_A mother for Lucius Malfoy's baby._

She turned away from the window, suddenly uninterested with the celebrations going on down below. It had been five days since she'd killed Voldemort and the same amount of time since she'd last seen Lucius Malfoy. Led by Snape, she'd been given the room she presently occupied, and had been told to 'make herself scarce' as much work was to be done in rectifying the Wizarding world.

She'd heeded his words. How could she not? Not only was she afraid to face Lucius Malfoy, she didn't relish being in Draco's company either. Whenever she thought of him, the guilt just ate away at her heart. More than once, she'd convinced herself that there was nothing to feel guilty about. After all, his father had played as much a part in this mess as she. However, all of her justifications tended to crumble whenever she imagined Draco's disgusted sneer.

Nevertheless, she figured that Draco's rejection would sting a lot less than Lucius'. He had not said anything more on her pregnancy ever since their conversation in the cell. Not that he'd had the chance to. When Severus Snape had told her to make herself scarce, she'd been a good girl and had done just that.

But she couldn't hide for ever. There would come a point when she'd have to face Lucius. She didn't even know why she was lingering on at the manor, anyway. Choices had been opened up for her now. She could come and go as she pleased. So why stay? Why was she sitting around, waiting on a man that had not even bothered to pay her visit in five days?

_Maybe I should leave without anyone knowing…_

The idea was immediately appealing. It effectively killed two birds with one stone: a reprieve from facing Lucius, and preventing him from staying in her life. She wasn't foolish. Lucius Malfoy was a possessive man. He knew she carried his child, and she didn't doubt he'd find ways to keep her under lock and key. Merlin knows, though, that the man was wealthy. If she so chose, her baby wouldn't have to worry about food or clothing for the rest of his or her life.

Still! She did not want Lucius Malfoy's money. She wanted the man himself, and if she couldn't have him, then it made no sense sticking around. He wouldn't have her, anyway. Their dalliances had been just that: dalliances. Nothing serious was to be borne from their intimacy. Their coupling had just been an outlet to reaffirm to themselves that they were alive and wanted. It was her fault she'd botched things and fallen in love with him.

Nodding to herself, she made up her mind to leave. In the first place, it had been her original plan. When Voldemort had been defeated, they were to part ways with Lucius none-the-wiser that he had gotten her pregnant. So what if Voldemort had ruined that aspect, it didn't stop her from following through with the rest.

_Tonight. When everyone is sure to be asleep, I will leave for my parent's house…_

It wasn't her best plan to date, but it was better than none. Even if she was unsure whether her parent's house was still available. At least she had an aunt that lived nearby. If all else failed, she'd just go there and try to build her life up from scratch. Just she and her baby.

* * *

Lucius sat in his living room, staring unseeingly into the lit fireplace. His long legs were sprawled out before him, his arms spread wide over the back of his sofa. In one hand dangled a half-glassful of scotch, and the other hand was idly playing with a snag in the material of the furniture. Because the room had begun to feel toasty, he'd unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt.

Vaguely, he listened to the cheery sounds that were still going strong even so late in the night—or so early in the morning. However, his mind drifted. It replayed various snippets of his life, none of them lingering long enough for him to assess. Raising his hand slowly, he lifted his glass of scotch to his lips and took a quick sip. Enjoying the burning trail the liquid left in his throat, he silently thought to himself that he was content.

He couldn't tell last he'd truly felt at ease; worry-free. The past twenty years of his life had been so consumed with evil-doing and palm-greasing, he'd had little time to just sit, relax and enjoy a full glass of single-malt scotch by himself. And after the conversation he'd just finished having with his son, he thought he deserved such a reprieve.

Draco. His son was unharmed and safe. Just the way he'd wanted it to be. That wasn't to say that, psychologically, the boy had not suffered some damage. To have lost his mother, his friends, his identity, his freedom, and endured the belief that his father had abandoned him was plenty to bear. But to learn that his father, the same man who'd held blood-purity so dear, had gone against those ingrained principles. To learn that his father had been intimate with a girl of his own age. His school-enemy, Hermione Granger. _And_ he'd gotten her pregnant. Now that was just too much.

But Lucius hadn't minced words. He'd told Draco everything plainly and concisely, and he admitted to himself that he was impressed with the boy's maturity and stoicism after receiving such news.

"Do you…do you love her, father?" Draco had asked, his face impassive.

But he had not answered. His pride had forbade him to say yes and his conscience—minimal as it was—had forbade him to say no. So he'd simply patted the boy's shoulder and left him to his own assumptions. Lucius had been willing to answer any question but that one.

Did he love Hermione Granger? He supposed he did. Running around saying that he 'cared for her' had become so trite. It was a pansy way of escaping the inescapable truth. Without him being aware, the witch had permanently appointed herself as someone significant in his life. She'd burrowed herself deep into his subconscious where, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always came full circle to her.

Nevertheless, he had to consider the possibility that she did not feel the same. At his discovery of her pregnancy, she'd calmly stated that had she had it her way, she would have never told him. This could only imply that she meant to leave him long before he could find out on his own. And if she'd had intentions of leaving him, then surely, that clearly meant she did not—

_Creeeaaaak!_

His musings fled away, returning him to the present. Turning his head in the direction of the sound, he swung his gaze about the area to locate the cause. In the recesses of his mind, he hoped that his manor was not currently being invaded by Death Eater remnants. Over the past five days since Voldemort's death, he and Severus Snape had begun an immediate excavation and imprisonment of any and all rabid Voldemort supporters. They had managed to ensnare many, but that didn't mean they'd gotten all.

He stood, settling his glass silently on the coffee table. His wand out, he made his way quietly to the entrance of the large living room. He knew that just outside the living room folding doors were the main staircase that led up to the east wing. He also knew that the staircase was in need of remodeling due to its noisy creaking on each step. Maybe he should reconsider remodeling the staircase. After all, it was the perfect alarm signal for intruders.

Wand at the ready, he stepped through the doors and turned swiftly to survey the origin of the sound. His wand tip pointing directly at her chest, there he found Hermione Granger, clutching the front of her cloak, staring at him in wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock.

* * *

_Shit!_

She dearly wanted to use an expletive much stronger than the aforementioned to convey her horrified surprise at being caught by none other than Lucius Malfoy himself. But she had never been a swearer nor would she adapt the habit anytime soon. She was going to be a mother soon. A good one, too. Good mothers did not swear like a sailorman during pregnancy; it sent bad vibes to the baby. Or so she thought.

She couldn't move. She was paralysed where she stood, with one foot on the offending step and the other foot on the step above. Carefully, she had descended the staircase, choosing to slide slowly against the wall. Up until that last step, things had seemed to be going just fine. The front door had been in sight. All she'd needed to do was clear a few more steps and she'd be homebound to her parent's cottage. But no, that stair just had to creak!

Lucius was staring at her. He'd dropped his wand, deposited it back into his trouser pocket, keeping his hands hidden there as well. He said nothing, he did nothing, only stared and stared and stared. She did the same. The silence was complete and uncomfortable, and she longed to turn tail and flee back to her room in the east wing.

"Where are you going?" he asked casually, finally breaking the unending silence.

She coughed nervously. "I…err…I was…um…just…just going for a walk."

An elegant eyebrow arched as he said, "Is that so? At this hour?"

She laughed tinnily. "Well…I-I couldn't sleep, so I thought a walk might do me some good."

"I find myself suffering the same dilemma," he lamented. "Care if I join you?"

"Oh…err…okay," she replied, unable to conjure a suitable excuse to reject his company.

He extended his right hand to her. "Let us be off, then."

Slipping her hand into his, she allowed him to lead her out through the front door. Down the steps, and angling left, he carried her across a cobble stone pathway. The night sky was still an inky blue, a few stars dotted across the expanse of the sky, winking down at her. The breeze was cool but not chilly for winter was coming to a close soon, heralding the arrival of spring.

Quietly, slowly, they strolled along the cobble stone pathway that meandered around the perimeter of the manor, and that branched off across his lawn to lead to some unknown area. Taking one of these branches, he squeezed her hand lightly as he led her along to Merlin-knows-where.

What was she to do? How was she to escape Lucius tonight? Would she have to humour him tonight then make another attempt tomorrow? It seemed the plausible choice, although, in the back of her mind she had a feeling he didn't believe she'd been on her way for a walk.

There was no moon out that night, but with a muttered spell from Lucius, the cobbled pathway was immediately lined by candlelight on each side. Hermione beamed at the beautiful sight, admiring the curving designs the candlelight made as the pathway winded its way ever onwards. She confessed it was a romantic moment; to be holding hands with one's lover as they strolled along a candlelit night…

"Lucius, where are you taking me?" she finally asked.

Abruptly, he stopped walking. Turning to face her, he said, "Or rather, where I'm preventing you from taking yourself."

"What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"You weren't simply going for a walk." It wasn't a question.

His intense gaze arrested hers. She could not look away; did not want to. She catalogued every feature of his handsome face, awash with the golden glow from the candle. From his thin eyebrows, his light-grey eyes, his slim nose, his strong jaw-line, and his sensual lips. She drank the memory of him in, imprinting it in her brain. She loved him. This man; this beautiful creature who had hated her beyond reason. Who had wanted her dead. But not anymore. She loved him…

"No, I was not," she agreed, stepping closer to him.

"Were you going to leave?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"There is no reason for me to stay."

He settled both hands on her hips and pulled her against him. "You are with child. My child, I might add. Isn't that justifiable?"

She dropped her gaze. Then, speaking softly, "That still isn't reason enough."

A long, long silence followed before Lucius said quietly, "What will convince you to stay, Hermione?"

Their gazes met again, sky-grey eyes to caramel-brown. The candlelight, dancing merrily to the breeze's tune, flickered its golden light against their skin. And in that moment, a world of unspoken words passed between them as their open gazes bared their souls to each other. In that instant of timelessness, Hermione Granger learnt the pleasant truth of Lucius Malfoy's true feelings for her.

Lifting herself up onto her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She pressed herself against him, wanting to feel every inch of his body against hers even as he encircled her tightly within his arms. She kissed him, pouring all her love and all her want and all her need for him in that kiss. She kissed him, leaving no doubt in his mind of her true feelings for him as well.

And when they finally broke apart from their kiss, she asked in a whisper, "Do you want me to stay, Lucius?"

"Yes, I would like that very much," he whispered against her lips.

"Then I would stay, Lucius. I would stay with you."

* * *

_finite incantatem_


	21. Epilogue

"And what did she say?" asked Hermione.

Draco's smile was shy but happy. "She said…she said yes."

"Oh, Draco, that's wonderful!" cheered Hermione as she flung her arms around Draco's neck in a loving hug. She squeezed him tight then released him, smiling brightly up into his face.

Presently, they were discussing—and celebrating—Draco's proposal of marriage to Luna Lovegood. After courting the witch for a good year, at Hermione's slight nudging, he'd finally plucked up the courage to ask her hand in marriage. As much as she'd thought that Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood made an unlikely couple, she'd been proven wrong when their relationship had held on strong during the past year.

As they made their way, arm in arm, to the dining room for lunch, Hermione couldn't help but feel amazed at how things had changed. Four years ago, she and Draco had been sworn enemies, chomping at the bit to hex each other into oblivion at the slightest provocation. Now, here they were: good friends and even better confidantes to one another. Despite their rocky start at the beginning of her permanent move to the Malfoy Manor, they had eventually smoothed out their rough patches.

She was so happy for him. Nobody deserved more love and attention than Draco. His life had been filled with so much hate, rage and neglect. It had taken considerable time for him to break through that hard, resentful exterior and learn to love and be loved again. And to find that love in Luna Lovegood, a calm, free spirit filled with endless optimism and quirkiness, was truly wonderful.

And she had said yes. Luna Lovegood had agreed to become Luna Malfoy. Hermione could not resist her giddy smile, even in the face of Draco's teasing comment that he could see all her molars.

She wasn't only happy for Draco, but for the rebalancing of her life. After the complete elimination of Voldemort's die-hard supporters, she'd learnt that not all whom she'd thought had perished. Through Severus Snape, she'd learnt that many of her past classmates had survived, and even a few of the Weasleys: George Weasley, Percy Weasley, Bill Weasley and his family. And with Snape's help, she'd found her parents, returned them to their home and restored their memory.

After lunch, Draco bid her farewell, with a parting "Tell Lee-Lee I'll be back tomorrow," as he Apparated back to his job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor of Hogwarts. As much as he could have taken lunch at school, he'd visited to share the news of his successful proposal, and to spoil his sibling rotten with a box of sweets. Once she'd finished cleaning the dishes herself—much to the dismay of the house elves—she decided that a quick check on her sleeping baby, then a long, luxurious bath was in order.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, returned home from his four day trip from Austria. He'd intended to return by breakfast time, but business matters had been delayed and he'd been forced to reschedule his trip for the afternoon. He was tired, and more than a little bit hungry. Why he bothered to stay employed was beyond him. He was insanely wealthy, after his frozen funds had been restored. He needn't work a day in his life again.

Still, he wanted to keep himself occupied. What was life without purpose? Besides, he was paying his penance where it was due. Twenty odd years of his life had been dedicated to the destruction of Wizarding Britain because of Pureblood mania. It had caused him the life of his wife and nearly the life of his son's. Not to mention the lives of many others. So even though he was fully aware that he needn't work, he did it for atonement.

That wasn't to say he'd made a complete turnaround. He still held some of his elitist ideologies dear. He stilled believed that all men were not equal, but that didn't mean they had to die. He still despised most non-human magical beings but, due to Hermione's constant nagging on the subject, he'd decided to make a small concession for house-elves. But Merlin help him, he could not stand those greedy, ugly goblins. Just couldn't.

Making his way to the living room, he was just about to call upon Daisy, the head house-elf, when he heard an excited, child-like squeal.

Rosalie.

He smiled. The little three-year old (soon to be four, as he was often reminded by her) hellion of a daughter had the force of a tornado and an earthquake combined. He loved her fiercely, but she drove him and her mother insane with her mischievous antics and intractableness. Even now, he could hear Hermione screaming the girl's name shrilly.

The sound of small, pattering feet drumming their way down the steps alerted Lucius to head to the east wing stairs. He arrived just in time to see a naked, scrawny little body launch itself from the third to last step, and hastily flinging his arms open, he caught the little girl.

Mere seconds later, Hermione, her bathrobe askew, skidded to a halt at the top of the staircase. Her scowling face immediately contorted into a smile of pleasant surprise when she saw him standing, holding a squirming Rosalie in his arms.

"You're back," she said with a smile.

"You're home," he replied.

"I know, I know. We're late," she flapped her hand in the air. "Mum won't mind. It's just that Rosalie—"

"Mum!" Rosalie parroted with a smile. "Bathe, mummy! Bathe!"

Lucius eyed Hermione's soaked bathrobe. Bathe mummy, indeed. Bath-time for Rosalie Malfoy was her mother's greatest tribulation. Every day, the three-year old consistently attempted to escape Hermione's clutches as she bathed her. It wasn't that Rosalie despised bathing, the girl simply enjoyed running around nude and being chased by her very displeased mother.

Gazing down at Rosalie, he couldn't help but see her mother in the girl. Her striking hazel eyes held the same sharp intelligence and hidden mischievousness, and her small lips were shaping into a similar fashion as Hermione's. Her hair was a riot of curls, although blond and much more manageable. Despite her trouble-making tendencies, she was a precocious, polite, generous little being that filled his heart with joy at the simplest of her smiles or gurgles of laughter. She was a pretty little girl that would grow into an even prettier woman. Just like her mother.

Lucius eyed Hermione's askew robe once more. It was clear she wore nothing beneath it for the gaping opening revealed an ample portion of her breasts. She came down the stairs and plucked Rosalie from his arms, then planted a quick peck on his lips. Unsatisfied, he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her again, deepening the kiss.

"Stop it, daddy!" demanded Rosalie in outrage, her small palm slapping his cheek. "Bad, daddy, very bad! Mummy doesn't like that!"

He released Hermione, both of them smirking. "Oh, I'll beg to differ on that, my dear."

* * *

Later that evening, after Hermione had postponed her trip to see her mum, they had a cozy dinner where Rosalie peppered her father with questions about his trip. When dinner was finished, they both carried a tired Rosalie to her tiny bed, where she immediately fell asleep as soon as her head had touched the pillow.

Hermione stared at her little girl. In that moment, she could not believe she was now a mother. She often remembered the year she'd spent in depressive solitude, longing to find the courage to end her own life. She recalled the winter afternoon when, on a trip to collect brushwood, she'd come across a nearly dead Lucius Malfoy. From that moment, her life's destiny had changed so drastically.

She felt Lucius' body heat as he stood close behind her. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he dragged his hands slowly, smoothing down her arms then back up again. At his hand's second descent, he looped his thumbs through the straps of her summer dress and began to peel the material downwards.

Giggling, she turned to face him. "Lucius, Rosalie is right here. She'll—"

He stilled her protests with a sudden kiss, capturing her mouth and claiming it as his. Settling his hands on her hips, he pulled her hard against him, marching her backwards to the bed they shared. When the back of her legs hit the side of the bed, he paused to divest her of her dress and wandlessly Evanescoed her knickers.

"Lucius, she'll hear us," Hermione moaned as her gaze darted nervously to the toddler bed that Rosalie occupied. She'd disliked leaving young Rosalie all alone in a new room, so had decided to have her stay in the master room with her and Lucius.

"Try not to scream too loudly, then," he replied with a smirk as he gently pushed her onto the bed.

"Mr. Malfoy, don't be such an insufferable gloat," she admonished playfully.

"Mrs. Malfoy, do be quiet and enjoy what I'm about to do to you," he said before trailing his tongue along her naked body to finally stop at the juncture between her thighs.

He placed his tongue, flat and insistent, against her nether lips, then languidly smoothed it upwards. Hermione gasped at the action, her hips rising involuntarily, and in time to Lucius' dragging tongue. Purposefully, expertly, his tongue danced and licked, constantly evading the one place she longed for his tongue to touch. Thrusting her hands into his hair, she gasped and moaned, bucking her hips, hoping, _longing_ for his tongue to just touch that important bit of her.

"Please…" she panted, her eyes screwed shut with pleasurable frustration.

She felt his smirk against her flesh, and she dearly wanted to hit him. But those thoughts fled the moment he finally awarded her with his tongue against her throbbing nubbin of flesh. He licked it, sucking and momentarily scraping his teeth against the sensitive flesh. And Hermione's body jerked with each ministration, a jolt of sensation strumming through her veins from that one spot.

He inserted a finger into her wet heat, then two, as he continued to pleasure her insanely with his tongue. Her head thrashing from side to side, she gripped the strands of his hair tightly, forcing herself down on his lips. He suckled at her flesh, his fingers smoothing a steady rhythm within her, grazing all the right areas. Merlin, if the feel of his tongue on her wasn't divine, but she wanted something else; _needed_ something else.

"Come, come," she pleaded. "I need you in me."

He complied. Rising himself from the bed, he held her gaze as he swiftly removed his casual shirt and trousers. Once naked, he came to lie on her, recapturing her mouth in a hard and needy kiss. She smelled herself on him, tangy and not unpleasant, and she liked it. She felt as though she'd marked him, somehow. He was hers.

_Mine._

Breaking the kiss, he kissed his way down her neck, across her chest to pay attention to her neglected breasts. Encircling his mouth over a nipple, his hot, wet mouth sucked and laved at her breasts. She moaned his name softly, her head thrown back in sweet abandon. He ran his tongue along the sensitive underside of her breast then returned to nibbling and flicking her erect nipple. He paid due attention to the other breast, all the while his fingers made quick work of the bud of flesh between her nether lips.

Releasing her breast, he kissed her again. Gripping her hip, he raised her lower half, positioned himself and entered her slowly. They groaned in unison, Hermione's louder than Lucius'. She was pleasantly full; his girth filling her and rubbing along her sweet spot even though he wasn't moving.

Then he moved, his thrusts slow and experimental at first before he picked up his pace at Hermione's gasping insistence. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she felt every deep plunge as he pounded into her. She cried his name and whimpered insensible things. She accepted each thrust. Whatever he offered her she took with moaning gladness.

They made love frenziedly, grasping at each other as though they feared to let go. With their bodies joined and moving in a rhythm as old as time, they expressed their love for one another. Like debtors and collectors, they gave and took from each other what they owed. And when Hermione finally came with a strangled cry, Lucius' orgasm followed not too long after. They panted, breathing hard in the aftermath of their lovemaking, their gazes locked with a scorching intensity that conveyed so much without words.

"Daddy!" cried Rosalie indignantly in her child's voice as she frowned at Lucius. "What are you doing to mummy?"

Blushing furiously, Hermione hastily covered their nude, sweaty bodies with the sheet.

"Rosalie, go back to sleep," she commanded, twisting her neck to stare at the girl.

"Is he hurting you, mummy?" demanded Rosalie, her delicate features twisted in a scowl. "Tell him you don't like it, mummy!"

"Darling, I hardly believe your mother did not like—" began Lucius with a smirk, obviously uncaring that his three year old daughter had glimpsed him post-coitus.

"Shut it, you!" demanded Hermione, then to Rosalie: "Close your eyes, Lee-lee. Mummy has a surprise for you!"

* * *

There wasn't a surprise. It had only been a guise for Hermione to extricate herself from Lucius and the bed, and to hastily don a bathrobe. Rosalie had been most displeased with the deception, but after a cup of hot chocolate, the girl was pacified and went back to sleep.

They enjoyed a glass of wine on the master bedroom's balcony. Summer was in full swing so the night was pleasantly warm; a light breeze skipping along their skin occasionally. In the lull of their intimate conversation, Lucius silently admired his wife. Their marriage, an affair that they'd tried to keep quiet, had made front page news in every single known wizarding paper. For months, they'd been constantly harassed by the likes of Rita Skeeter, but now, it seemed that the hullabaloo had died away.

He loved his wife. Tremendously so. At the risk of sounding inanely poetic, he often wondered how he had survived without her. After all, if it weren't for her, he'd be a dead man a long, long time ago. Three times, she'd saved his life. Willingly, without a thought she'd very nearly lost her own for his. She'd binded him so tight in their life-debt, he didn't even know when he'd be free. Not that he wanted to.

"You know, Lucius, I think your debt has been paid," said Hermione as she turned away from the view of his lands, to gaze at him. "You are now a free man. Unbound."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. Had she been reading his thoughts. "Is that so?"

She smiled. "It is," then, softer, she continued, "You have given me so much to be thankful for, Lucius. So much."

"Like?"

Her grin was devious, her eyes sparkling with the same mischievous glint that existed in Rosalie's eyes. "Well, like your money, the clothes, the jewelry…and those divine heels that cost an arm and a leg at Madame Camille's…"

"Gold-digger. I should divorce you this instant."

"Not even if I said that I love you?"

"Not even…" he began, paused, and then continued, "Well, a concession can certainly be made in that regard…"

Her eyes shiny, she said softly, "I love you, Lucius."

He smiled. "Of course, you do. It is impossible that you can not."

This cheeky comment earned him a pinch on his abdomen. "I can't believe you—"

He cut her off with a kiss. Running his tongue along the seam of her lips, he encouraged her to open her mouth to him and she did. He explored her mouth with his own, relishing the sweetness of the wine on her tongue, and the warmness of her mouth. He cupped her face in his palms, kissing her deeper and longer until he was forced to break the kiss for air.

Indeed, life had dealt them both a seemingly impossible hand but they had played their cards right. A few years ago, Lucius Malfoy and Hermione Granger had been bitter enemies with a stretch of hate between them. But what was life without curveballs? What was life without unexpected occurrences that irrevocably changed your future?

A few years ago, Lucius Malfoy was supposed to be dead. A few years ago, Hermione Granger was supposed to be dead, as well. But then, providence had meddled, changing their morbid destiny. Now, they were no longer enemies, they no longer hated each other passionately. Now, they were man and wife, and they each loved the other.

She was watching him, waiting to hear him say the same, and for an instant, his stubborn male pride intervened. It argued that he'd shown her, on more than one occasion, that he loved her, so he needn't say it aloud. But he damned his pride temporarily to hell. If she wanted verbal confirmation, then he'd give it to her.

So, bending to drag his tongue along her ear, he whispered to her those three precious words that she deserved, and which he'd yet to say to anyone else in all of his lifetime.

x.x end


End file.
